


The First Frost

by Rising_Eagle (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Childbirth, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized racism, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Thor (Marvel), Sibling Incest, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 78,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Rising_Eagle
Summary: Thor was pregnant.It was impossible for Loki to process.Since his rescue from the Bifrost, he strove to recover from his depression. Loki sought redemption for his attempted genocide, hoping for forgiveness from his estranged parents, and the last thing he needed was a child to further complicate matters. Thor was an Asgardian male. It was an impossible conception, and yet . . . there was a child . . . a son.





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Damn you to hell, Loki_!”

Thor stood with Mjölnir outstretched. It was a threatening gesture, as muscles bulged and knuckles turned white, and his lips were so curled that canine teeth flashed into sight, while his cheeks flushed red and breaths came out in pants. A crackle of electricity ran over his skin, while nostrils flared and the hand at his side shook. Fury was an understatement. The hallway behind Thor illuminated him in the doorway, casting his precise expression in dark shadow.

It took all of Loki’s strength to keep his smile. He jumped to his feet, as he pole-vaulted over the sofa, and – with raised hands in a gesture of surrender – stumbled back as he hunched forward to minimise his presence in the lounge. The _chaise longue_ was littered with books and parchment, after a long day of political matters, and the balcony doors behind him were flung wide, allowing inside a few stray flower petals from the blooming trees. Loki licked at his lips; his heart pounded in his ears, as his skin broke with a cool sweat.

“Now, Thor, I can explain. I –”

Thor stormed forward. The red cape flew in the air behind him, sending small rustling noises echoing out behind him, while Thor roared so loud – despite his growth and change upon Earth – that Loki almost anticipated the violence that was so common during their teenage years . . . _fists thrown, kicks landed, blood drawn_. . . Loki tripped over the hem of his leather coat, as he struggled to get away from the looming threat. He stopped only when the marble banister of the balcony struck the small of his back, knocking the wind from him.

Mjölnir was jabbed into his chest, held there until he was bent half-backwards, and Loki gripped at the banister in a desperate purchase, as gravity threatened to overbalance him and send him tumbling over the edge and down into the dirt. Thor grabbed at the lapels of his coat, yanking him forward just enough to keep in place. There was something wrong. Loki struggled to control every breath, as he thought back to their fight on the bridge . . .

It was impossible to forget the fight that led to him dangling in the abyss . . . _hands grasping for purchase on Gungnir, an overwhelming sense of despair, letting go only to be caught at the last second by the callused hand of Thor . . ._ a part of him hoped never to see that anger again, but here it was before him. Loki panted for breath, as he forced a faked laugh, and widened his eyes when tears visibly spilled down rosy cheeks. Loki opened and closed his mouth to speak, only for Thor to trembled all over and let go with a hiss of breath.

“You said you can explain?” Thor spat. “ _Explain_.”

“Thor, you are starting to scare me.”

“Good, Brother! What right have you to abuse my trust? I love you more than any other, enough that a part of me died when I saw you were more willing to _die_ than to remain with those that loved you more than life itself . . . I thought the healers might ease your mind, while you have worked so well with the Jotun to make amends, but this . . . _this_. . .”

Loki wiped the spit from his face. Thor – with wrenching sobs – dropped Mjölnir down onto the balcony, where it sat between them with the leather strap swaying in the breeze, even as Loki eyed it with a raised eyebrow and flexed his hands out of instinct. The sound of footsteps echoed out through the air, as every slam of a boot struck the marble, and Loki gnawed at his lip as Thor buried his head into hands. Loki drew in slow and deep breaths, as he eyed the main doors of the lounge and the other balconies around them.

“It was only a prank,” chanced Loki.

“Only a _prank_?” Thor gasped.

“The healers recommended it as part of my recovery.” Loki shrugged and furrowed his brow. “I was advised to begin a relationship with Helblindi Laufeyson, so as to aid in my struggle for identity, and I was advised in turn to make redemption for my acts on Jotunheim, which I have arranged to begin in some weeks from now. I shall help them to rebuild.

“I still did not feel wanted or accepted. They recommended that I return to old family dynamics and participate in acts that I enjoyed . . . they thought harmless pranks would be no danger to anyone, so I turned a few of your screens upside-down and refilled some of your shampoos with mayonnaise . . . childish, yes, but harmless. I expected you to prank me back, like when you would leave Mjölnir on my textbooks or on the toilet seat, and –”

“Do not play dumb, Brother. I am in no gaming mood!”

“Neither am I,” spat Loki. “Do you know what depression I suffer? I live knowing that I have Jotun flesh and Jotun blood, but still must be expected to pay recompense to monsters whose existence is an insult to our people! I have guilt and shame and confusion, all rattling around in my skull until I feel I may implode under the pressure, but _still_ I abide this temper tantrum of yours. If I have supposedly insulted you, I pray you tell me the insult.”

Thor spun around and marched toward Loki. He slammed a hand into the pocket of his trousers, before he yanked out a small device that was flat and circular, and – with a familiar stab of its surface – a holographic image sprung forth into the air and whirred with a faint noise until it fully materialised and ran silent. It was shoved into Loki’s chest, as he fumbled to catch it and hold it upright, and Thor simply returned to pacing and pacing and pacing, while Loki was left to hold the storage device and look at the recorded image.

It took a few seconds to recognise what he saw, as he held it at arms length. The image was black-and-white, unlike the coloured and realistic images of people usually recorded for prosperity and memory, and it was slightly out of proportion . . . large head, tiny hands, foetal position . . . a baby. Loki grew weak. _A baby_. A rise of nausea consumed him, as he tasted bile at the back of his throat and blinked back tears, and he forced an insincere smile.

“Oh,” said Loki. “There is a child. . .”

A devastating sense of betrayal washed over him. Loki hunched his shoulders, as his lips trembled and every muscle grew heavy, and he raised a hand to trace a finger over the hologram, where he noted this was clearly a boy and bore strong features. It was difficult to avoid the painful lump in his throat, which clung and cloyed with a sickening strength, but a sharp jab turned the device off and allowed him a moment to think, even as the image lingered on his retinas and appeared with every blink as a vivid afterimage. Loki spat:

“Who is the mother?”

Thor stopped where he stood. A cold silence washed over them; every beat of Loki’s heart grew louder and louder, washing out all background sounds, until he stared absently down at the device until it was roughly snatched away and rammed back into Thor’s pocket. He continued to stare at his hands . . . _a nephew not of his blood . . . a child not his to raise_. . . Loki drew in a deep breath and let it out with a staggered exhale, as he choked out:

“I was not aware you were seeing anyone else?”

“You seriously ask me to whom that child belongs,” murmured Thor.

“It is a perfectly valid question, Thor.”

Loki lowered his hands, but tugged and pulled at the skin. He lowered his head, as fingers ran over cold flesh hidden behind the illusion cast, and he winced to feel the ridges that marked his true heritage and thought of how Thor must have lain with another to produce such a child, but it was all too obvious in hindsight . . . Loki screwed shut his eyes. A few deep breaths allowed for him to regain composure, even as the image of the unborn child flickered behind his eyelids with terrifying clarity, and he raised his head once more.

Thor came to stand beside Loki. He rested his hands on the banister, while he looked out over their realm with visible tears threatening to fall, and – with pursed lips and clenched jaw – one soon fell and dripped down onto the back of his hand that rested on the marble. Loki licked at his lips and fought the urge to comfort him, as he leaned back on the banister and faced the opposite direction, simply staring back into the lounge. Thor heaved a long sigh.

“It is my child,” said Thor. “ _I_ am pregnant.”

“That’s impossible,” said Loki.

“Do you think I am unaware of that?” Thor pressed his thumbs into his eyes. “I was gaining weight and experiencing fainting spells, so I went to the healers to uncover why I was unable to lose this weight on my stomach, and the more I worked out – the stricter I kept my diet – the more I would faint and the more I would grow nauseous. They told me that I was pregnant, but even they were pressed to understand how. They are running tests.”

“This – This is no _seiðr_ of mine, Brother,” swore Loki. “I would have to do extensive research, but the amount of _seiðr_ to impregnate an Asgardian male would require you to ingest a potion that would take months to prepare . . . I doubt you would survive such a pregnancy either, as a caesarean on a male body would mean cutting major blood vessels.”

“What else could it be except for _seiðr_? The healers say a pregnancy to full term would be nine months, but this – this – this child . . . it’s roughly four-and-a-half months, but we were not intimate then, were we? We were last intimate three months ago, but before that –”

“How can this child be mine? You are an Asgardian man!”

Loki turned with reddened cheeks. He shook his head and curled his lip, as he screwed shut his eyes and raised a shaking hand into the air with fingers clawed, and – as every muscle tensed and his heart raced ever faster – he struggled to comprehend the situation. _It was impossible for an Asgardian male to be pregnant_. It was basic biology. Loki dropped his hands and thought to the implications, but Thor simply turned with mouth wide and eyes bloodshot, as he half-laughed and half-scoffed in response to Loki. Thor whispered:

“You would accuse me of lying with another?”

The question hung heavy between them; Loki thought to a natural conception, as impossible as it ought to be, and mentally ran through the dates and times . . . _nothing added up_. . . the implication was real as any other, even as Thor gasped and practically bent in two with heavy and dark laughter. Loki winced and tented his hands before his nose. He took in a deep breath, as he turned back to Thor with trembling lips and a half-broken smile.

“I _know_ you would lie with no other man,” said Loki.

“Then this child must be yours.”

“That is your logic?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Our relationship has always been what I _assumed_ to be steady, until your flirtations with that _whore_ on Midgard, but our last moment of intimacy was before your coronation . . . you told me that you had too many mixed feelings after my actions which needed to be processed, and I wanted to recover from my trauma –”

“We were intimate before then, too,” murmured Thor.

“Aye, around six months ago. We stopped our intimacies as we were nearly caught, as _someone_ wanted to fool around in Father’s bed . . . no matter how we look at it, Thor, the maths simply do not add up! Any child of ours would be six months or three months, and – honestly – I hate you for making me say that as you are _not_ pregnant.”

“I _am_ pregnant and no one else could be the father! We have been fooling around since we were teenagers, dating exclusively since our fifties, and engaging in penetrative intercourse for the past six months. If this is anyone’s child, it must be yours, Loki.”

“Again, you _cannot_ be inseminated, impregnated, or birth a child.”

“Well tell that to the child that currently grows inside me!”

Loki stormed inside the lounge. He marched over to the _chaise longue_ opposite the floor-to-ceiling rows of bookcases, where his parchments and books still covered every surface, and threw himself onto the soft cushions, as he crossed his legs at the ankles. Thor followed at a slow pace, still hissing with loud and deliberate breaths, until he stood at the head of the _longue_ and cast a dark shadow over Loki. Loki gestured to the armchair beside him. A loud thud followed as a heavy body struck the soft cushions. Loki muttered out:

“Have you drunk any unusual concoctions?”

A scoff escaped Thor’s lips. The breeze from outside brought the flower petals further inside, until a few lost themselves underneath the table, and Loki threw an arm over his forehead in a an attempt to block them sight, while his other hand drummed a low pattern on the back of the _longue_ in tune to his racing heart. Thor fidgeted beside him, spreading his legs and clasping his hands between them as he constantly moved and mumbled.

“I have grown up with what the servants have dubbed ‘the God of Lies’,” teased Thor. “I learnt at young age never to accept drinks from strangers, sometimes even from Fandral or yourself, and – as such – I have not imbibed any secret potions.”

“And the healers have not mixed up your results?”

“Eir ran the tests again once the first set of results showed pregnancy. They used the Soul Forge at first, but then resorted to outdated methods of blood tests and ultrasound scans, and they said there are most certainly a womb and a foetus. The only debate is _how_ this occurred, but they can tell me that the uterus appears to be attached to my lower intestines.”

Loki bit his lip to hold back a joke. He lowered his hand and rolled his head to the side, as he locked eyes with Thor who quickly softened his expression, and – sharing a knowing glance – Thor burst into laughter and moved his hand to his stomach. They remained quiet for a long few minutes, while Thor continued to rub circles at his stomach and hummed an old song from their childhood, and Loki could only furrow his brow and strive to remember so many classes and electives growing up in the academy. He asked in a low voice:

“Is that not like Jotun biology?”

“How do you mean?”

“I vaguely remember our lessons,” said Loki. “The Jotun have a reproductive system similar to the digestive system, insofar as the rectum has a duel purpose like the start of the throat, and a flap much like the epiglottis that shifts between whether there is sexual arousal or the need to defecate. They also have a gestation period of just six months.”

“That is interesting, Loki, but I am not a Jotun.” Thor winced. “Do you think this is some form of spell? Is it possible that this is some shared illusion with the healers? Mother and Helblindi are both masters of _seiðr_ , perhaps they can offer more advice?”

“I love Mother dearly, but I would not trust her to be so honest. They hid from me my Jotun heritage for an entire lifetime, do you really think they would tell you should something be amiss in this situation? They would likely seek to find a solution without your input. I do not want any nephew of mine aborted, while it is claimed to you to be a ‘miscarriage’ or an ‘extraction’ of some diseased tissue, simply so they can hide some truth.”

“What truth would they hide?” Thor asked. “You think them too cruel.”

“I am being realistic,” said Loki. “Thor, I think you ought to get the objective opinion of a third-party; I would suggest seeking help from Helblindi, which I am sure I could broker given his insistence on treating me as his lost brother, or I would advise a trip to Vanaheim with Hogun to speak to their healers. You are a man, Thor! You cannot conceive.”

Loki threw himself upright. He pulled a few sheets of parchments toward him, as he looked at the barely legible Jotun writing and the scrawled translations besides, and he bit his lip at memories of a brief few meetings with Helblindi, as well as the daily letters as his elder brother strove to create a relationship with the lost younger sibling. It was well-known that Jotun were capable of such same-sex reproduction, enough that Loki lived ever grateful of his sexual preferences that prevented his impregnation. He whispered:

“Let us uncover the truth of the matter.”

A hiss of breath escaped Thor, as if he doubted such a decision. He continued to rub at his stomach, with fingers tracing over his looser armour made of leather, and – for the first time – Loki noted that the metals were absent and there was indeed a barely concealed bulge, which was hidden well with some form of compression vest. There did seem to be a ‘glow’ about his skin, but it was ruined by the tears that formed once more and ready to fall.

“I am too young to be a father, Loki,” whispered Thor.

The doubt and fear were apparent. Loki flinched with a mental curse, while he spun around and ran his hands through his hair, and – with an audible swallow – he forced back the terrible realisation that there was every small chance he were the father, assuming that this somehow bore some miraculous natural conception. He cast his eyes to Thor’s stomach . . . staring, waiting, fearing . . . Loki bit the inside of his cheek until his tasted iron, but soon forced a smile and blinked back tears. Loki pleaded in a small voice:

“Let me help you as you helped me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jotunheim was changed.

A vast array of smaller villages lay scattered around the desolated capital, each one comprised of huts and tents that housed more people than he could count, and all were attached to a hub of industry and development, as people worked even into the hours of darkness to create permanent buildings . . . factories, homes, public buildings . . . no person stood still and no person remained without purpose. They endlessly worked.

There were mountains with caves carved out into their sides, some into intricate walls with glass windows and wooden doors, as people lived in such natural monuments, and high above the tops were flattened and arched beneath created, so that roads could run over into the horizon beyond what the eye could comprehend. On the ground – outside the walls of the capital city – rows of displaced people lined up for burlap sacks of food, kept at a stall and rationed out with names being checked from a long scroll, all with heads hung low.

In the direction of the palace, many people were laid on beds outside. The gardens may once have been grand, filled with native plant-life that could survive harsh climes, but now there were bodies piled with white sheets on one side of a curtain, while on the other side men from babies to adults fought for life. A few healers ran from bed to bed, while volunteers tended to the few who needed wounds cleaned or food for survival. Thor whispered:

“You swore to help this realm?”

The snow crunched underfoot. Thor brought his furs around his stomach, holding them tight in clenched hands until knuckles turned white, and every breath expelled visible from his mouth, as he struggled down the large hill while holding his body at an awkward angle. If he were to fall, he wanted to fall on his back and not on his stomach. The small swell of skin was firm and taut beneath his hands, with surprising warmth that made him smile.

Loki continued behind, illusion kept despite Thor’s protests . . . _‘if I am with a Jotun then it will attract less attention’, ‘if you call me a Jotun again then I shall castrate you’_. . . thick leathers clad his form, along with a fur-trim that fully cemented his look as ‘Asgardian’. It was clear that his appearance meant more than his health, as he would rather sweat under multiple layers than reveal the blue hue of his skin, and never before had he dressed in such a manner for Jotunheim. It was as if he sought to make a point. It was a point well made.

“I swore to make amends, yes,” admitted Loki. “In the meantime, I have worked with Helblindi to build a relationship and engage in political discussions, but – in terms of doing more than just ‘talk’ – I have sworn to help rebuild in the upcoming weeks. I will probably be given menial and trivial tasks, as they seek to keep much infrastructure confidential.”

“There is a great deal of work to be done,” observed Thor.

“There is less than it seems. I am told they have constructed an underground transport system, which spreads out like a labyrinth complete with dead ends and alternate routes, and that the intended timetable includes ever-changing times and dates to make it difficult for outsiders to comprehend or interfere in some manner. There are even routes secret to their people, used solely for transportation of goods and governmental usages. It is quite . . . clever.”

Thor stopped not far from the bottom. Loki bumped into him from behind, as he ushered forth a loud curse and grabbed at Thor’s upper arm to help maintain his balance, but – not far in front of them – Helblindi stood with an impressive entourage. There were several noblemen on either side of him, while an array of guards held weapons that were impressive even to knowledgeable eyes, and Thor swallowed as his heart raced at the sight. The idea of battle was less impressive when his fingers ran over the swell beneath his expanded armour.

Helblindi bore an impressive resemblance to Loki, down to the smallest detail of the Jotun markings and the half-smirk that pulled at his lips, and only the waist-length hair separated them without a far closer analysis. The irises to his red eyes were a deep green, while his height was virtually on par with the other Jotun men, and there were deep laughter lines around the corner of his eyes, as well as the corners of his mouth. Helblindi clapped his hands.

“Ahoy, there,” chirped Helblindi. “A compliment from Loki is a high honour, indeed!”

Thor jumped down the last few feet of the hill edge. He bowed deep to Helblindi, who made no question of how they arrived or through what means, but simply watched as the other men gave them a wide berth and allowed them to walk beside Helblindi into the capital, as gates at least twenty-feet high opened behind them with a huge scraping sound of metal on ice. Loki walked on equal footing with Helblindi, even as Thor strove to maintain a respectful few feet between them, and Thor decided to break with the awkward silence with a quiet:

“You have focussed these few months on transport?”

“Well, not _just_ transport,” said Helblindi. “Our father was a little out-dated, to the extent that our entire race was gathered in one central point and our economy always seemed feudal to my eyes . . . trade this, barter that . . . how can one succeed against other realms that interact on a daily basis? We need trade deals. Those trade deals require _currency_.

“I focussed on our transportation, as I’ve decided we need to _branch out_. It’ll enable us to set up specialised areas of industry, which will help us to provide services no other realm can provide, and it’ll also increase our security. Loki’s attack _devastated_ our people. It took out ten-percent of our population! I decided that spreading out people out into various villages and towns and cities would provide an extra element of safety from future attacks.

“It means you would have to attack multiple places to achieve the same devastating effect, while also _not_ taking out multiple essential services in one blow. If you were to attack a town that deals mainly in farming _bilgesnipe_ , you won’t also have taken out the city that focuses on armour and weaponry, and – added to that – I have added a secondary palace in a secret location. Býleistr shall remain there with his kin, so our royalty is not in one place.

“I trust you are here to see me?” Helblindi asked, finally giving pause. “I’ll take you to our main palace, but I must warn you that a great deal has been given over to our orphans and elderly . . . a few wings have been used as a makeshift infirmary. It’s practical, yes, but I also believe it will increase good will to me and my future plans to revolutionise our people.”

“You would tell all of this to a stranger?”

“It is nothing that isn’t already public knowledge,” said Helblindi.

Helblindi waved at a group of Vanir ambassadors. They were gathered in front of an inn, which appeared rapidly converted into a small school or orphanage, and they debated at great length with parchment and holographic projections with a group of Jotun diplomats. Thor was only able to gain a brief look, as Helblindi led them down the main road that stretched throughout the entire capital to the front gates of the palace at the far end. A fountain marked the midway point, although frozen into a beautiful cascade of ice that looked like glass.

A few posters were scattered over various walls, seemingly listing emergency exits and gathering places for refugees and stations for rations, where – in another corner by a newly erected statue – Thor noticed a group from Alfheim and Nidavellir. A nobleman behind them explained the statue was erected in memory of all loss . . . a nameless and generic figure, so that all men could project upon it the image of those unable to be recovered . . .  Thor hung his head in respect as the passed the memorial covered with flowers carved from ice.

“I am surprised Odin Borson sent an ambassador,” said Helblindi.

“He did not,” confessed Thor. “We are here without his knowledge or consent. There was an issue that we required some specialised advice, but Loki was loath to speak to our parents after they lied to him about his heritage. He claims enough trust in you to turn to you for help.”

“Well, that’s a rather foolish idea.” Helblindi smirked and shook his head. “I’m a politician first and foremost; I’m more than happy to use whatever you tell me to my advantage, especially if I can use it against the Allfather to broker a better deal for my people, and – honestly – I would have thought Loki to have more sense than trust a Jotun.”

“You insisted I was your brother,” spat Loki.

“Relax, I’m simply teasing! I would not betray your trust, but that does not mean I shall let you off the hook for such a _foolish_ decision. You should know after recent events: _trust no one_! I can say for certain that I certainly would not trust an Asgardian, at least one that comes on behalf of the Allfather, but the fact you come alone makes me more inclined to speak with you both. Odin has not sought to make amends. He has ignored our plight. He cares not.”

Helblindi paused briefly in their march. The men behind him stopped without question, even as Loki wandered forward a few more steps and ceased only to swing his body around with a visible roll of his eyes, but Helblindi closed his eyes and allowed the breeze to wash over his face with a flurry of snowflakes. It was a beautiful sight, marred only by the still smoking remains of the palace now clearer in their vision. Thor stood in shocked awe as many parts of the palace lay decimated, before Helblindi continued to walk onward. Thor swallowed hard.

“You resent our father,” observed Thor.

“No, I resent _your_ father,” spat Helblindi. “He stole from us our greatest treasure, only to corrupt that same cherished child and warp him into a weapon of war, and now – after devastating our people – he allows our children to cry and bodies to build . . .”

“Did our father not send word of why we could not send resources?”

“No,” said Helblindi. “Do you know how I held my nephew’s bloodied corpse? I wailed to the sky. I wept until my tears ran with blood. I sent word to the Allfather, crimson staining my hands as iron filled my mouth, that our people were _slaughtered_ and the ice in our streets melted with their blood . . . I was left to rebuild alone. Asgard abandoned our people.”

They stopped just before the palace gates. Helblindi lowered his hands to his side, as they shook violently and tears built in the corners of red eyes, and – even as he raised his head to glance at the makeshift infirmary on the palace grounds – something remained broken about his face. A tear ran over his cheek and onto his lip. The blue skin paled, as he brought his hands up and flexed his fingers as eyes ran over the palms. Thor knew that expression.

It was the expression of a man reliving a trauma. Thor recalled mention of Býleistr and his two children in past discussions . . . Hilmar and Steinn . . . it made sense that both would have been in the capital at the time of the attack, likely in the palace with other members of the royal family, and the palace was reduced to rubble in places. A part of Thor died inside. He brought his hands flat to his stomach, as he doubled over with a wave of nausea, and fought down the guilt and sorrow that flooded his veins. Helblindi feigned a smile and chirped:

“In any case, we will survive.”

“You always do,” said Loki.

“Yes, no thanks to you.” Helblindi stared hard at Loki. “You are my blood. That makes you my brother and I owe you my undying loyalty, but you have murdered our father and slaughtered our people . . . do not think my hospitality runs to you, Loki. You have not yet made amends, and – until you do – I owe you only a basic cursory courtesy.”

“And what does _that_ mean?” Loki asked.

Helblindi raised a hand with an insincere smile. The guards at once moved into position, where they lowered their swords and formed a line between Helblindi and Loki. Thor stood beside Helblindi on the side closest to the gates that now opened wide, while further guards formed two lines on either side of the gates and stood to attention, and the palace doors were opened wide to reveal a makeshift hospital inside where men groaned and children cried. It was all Loki could do to keep calm, as he fisted his hands and glared. Helblindi said:

“It means you will not be allowed entry into our palace.”

“You would slight the son of Odin?”

“You are a Jotun criminal,” said Helblindi. “No Asgardian prince.”

Loki curled his lip and dove toward Helblindi. In an impressive display of strength and stamina, he jumped over the line of swords and twirled enough that his cape swished around in a beautiful manner midair, and – with a growl of frustration – fell on Helblindi. The illusion of Helblindi faded at once with a shimmer. It was unclear whether Loki knew it to be an illusion from the start, but he landed on his knees with an impressive grace.

A loud laugh echoed from inside the palace itself, where – in the grand hall filled with the injured and the dying – Helblindi called out a simple phrase . . . _‘you fall for that every time’_. . . it immediately brought a paling to already white skin. Loki slowly stood. A dangerous curl of his lip indicated his displeasure, while his lowered head brought darkness to his eyes, and Thor stalked forward with flared nostrils, as Loki snapped his hand into the air and used his _seiðr_ to manifest a dagger. Thor caught his wrist with a hard jerk, bruising his palm with the force of Loki’s attempted throw. Thor spat in a low voice:

“You have killed enough Jotuns, Brother.”

Loki yanked his hand away with a scoff. The reaction of the guards was one of mild contempt, as they spat and teased and mocked, and Thor struggled to control his heart as it raced in his ears, as he half-expected another outright battle. It was difficult to tell if these jabs and jibes were a regular occurrence between the recently reunited biological brothers, but Loki gave up with surprising cordiality and spun around with head held high and dagger cast away. A few escorts appeared from among the guards, as they led Loki away and back into the main street. Helblindi re-emerged at Thor’s side, as Thor asked in a low and displeased voice:

“You expect me to enter alone?”

“Loki will be given a meal by Býleistr,” said Helblindi. “He has yet to meet Agnar and Steinn, our brother-in-law and our nephew, and Býleistr is . . . _traditional_. He will forgive any crimes for Loki is our brother, and will seek to establish a brotherly bond and include Loki in all areas of our family, as well as seek for his princely status to be restored. He will be safe.”

“Will I be safe in turn? I am not family.”

“You are an Asgardian prince. So long as we do not bear the brunt of your decision to come here against the Allfather’s will, I shall treat you with utmost respect . . . if I am lucky, my kindness will be rewarded in kind and we can open official dialogues.”

“Believe me when I say I did not know how you suffered,” pleaded Thor. “I last came here to a desolate wasteland; I assumed all I saw was all that was, and I believed that the Bifrost was destroyed before any harm could be done. We only came here through Loki’s secret pathways, while our father is weak and his _seiðr_ lacks its previous strength, and so I can _swear_ to you that he is not here solely as he is unable to attend. It is no slight.”

“I considered this a possibility, but he could’ve easily sent word.”

“I swear that he would have sent word if he were able to –”

“Loki managed to come here, yes? That says enough.”

Thor winced, as Helblindi led him to the main doors. A child ran toward them, with an arm and an eye missing, but – despite the horrific injuries – a smile covered his face and tears of happiness rolled down his cheeks, as an older child descended on him with tickles and taunts. Thor smiled, even as he lowered his hand to his stomach, and he watched as they ran towards a man lying in one of the makeshift camps outside, where smiles faded as they saw how only old machines kept his chest breathing and his body alive. Helblindi touched his shoulder.

“Let us enter,” said Helblindi. “Tell me what ails you.”

He was guided through the vast rows upon rows of makeshift beds, before they reached a spiralling staircase that was blocked off by a thick rope and several guards, but – with a raise of a hand – access was granted and they ascended to the private wings of the palace. Great deals of rooms were commandeered by military leaders and ambassadors, as vast plans were laid over grand tables, and the discussion was loud and heavy to the point of pain.

Helblindi escorted him down a quieter corridor. There were guards at every door, while a hole in part of the ceiling dripped down melting ice, and yet the on either wall there stood an array of portraits of Jotun kings throughout the millennia. At the very end of the corridor, just before a grand set of doors, one particular portrait stole his attention. It stood in a gold frame, but the subject was so clearly Loki . . . the only difference was a Jotun form, with hair perfectly straight instead of his natural curls, and a smile innocent and sincere. Thor asked:

“Is that a portrait of Loki?”

Helblindi paused with hand on the doorknob. He turned to look over his shoulder with a gentle smile, as he stood tall with the fur cape – draped over one shoulder – slipping slightly to expose an expanse of his chest that was nearly indecent. They both focussed on the painting, where an inscription lay etched into the frame, but Thor could only understand one word: ‘memory’. He reached up towards the canvas, pausing just an inch before his natural oils could damage the paints, before he pulled his hand away with a shake of his head.

“Hmm,” said Helblindi. “He was Father’s favourite. He was intended to become king, as he bore such a striking resemblance to Fárbauti, but we believed him murdered by the Allfather after the events of the previous war . . . the Allfather cut all communications once the peace treaty was signed, which we know now was to hide Loki’s existence. This portrait was commissioned and created in his memory, as what we believed he may have appeared as an adult.”

“It is beautiful,” said Thor. “It looks just like his Jotun form.”

“Yet he still insists on this illusion of an Asgardian.”

“You must understand. We were raised to hate the Jotun race, as we considered you monsters that would kill and maim and rape any that came your way, and I truly believed you barbarians without a hint of civilisation. The contact with the Casket of Ancient Winters broke the blood spell on Loki, revealing his true form, but . . .

“He struggles to see himself as Jotun, only now being forced by yourself and our healers to see them as _people_ , and he also does not wish to be disowned from our family, so he clings to his Asgardian identity to stay a part of our family unit. Our father would not discard him for being Jotun, but he does not believe this and he cannot see this. It will take time, but I believe he will one day cast aside the illusion in public and be proud of his heritage.”

“Is that why you came here? To learn more of our race?”

“No, but – if you will permit me – I would gladly return here with Loki.” Thor smiled and nodded. “He intends to use his secret pathways to make amends, yes? I would also be glad to make amends for my previous actions, as I came into your land and attacked your people, and I also wish to know more about the culture of my brother. I would gladly learn your language and study your history, if you would allow me that privilege.”

“You would do so much, but still Odin will not come . . .”

“He will come. I will give you my word.”

Helblindi hummed a non-committal sound. He threw open the doors and strode inside a grand room that appeared to be a private lounge, complete with a bedroom to the far left and an _en suite_ to the far right, and – opposite the doors – a large balcony overlooked the remnants of the city and the construction work in all areas. The various desks and chairs gave it the feel of an office space, while the vast amount of paperwork made it clear Helblindi used even his private quarters as a meeting ground for fellow officials. No remaining space was wasted.

Thor wandered over to the balcony, where the glass doors were thrown wide, and he smiled as snowflakes flurried toward him and brushed over his furred cape and thick layers, while simultaneously cursing the cold that penetrated his flesh. He walked onto the balcony and rested his hands on the banister, while Helblindi came to stand beside him and brushed away enough snow so as to comfortable lean his forearms on the marble. Helblindi asked:

“Why are you here, Thor?”

“Our healers uncovered something strange,” muttered Thor. “I was experiencing fainting spells and weight gain, as such I submitted myself for a check-up, but they insist that the cause is a _pregnancy_. This is impossible. I am male, but they insist I am capable of bearing young and the only race I know capable of this is the Jotun race. Loki thought –”

“Our medical technology is far below that of Asgard,” confessed Helblindi. “It stems from our lack of outside communication and splendid isolation. We have thus relied on traditional medicine, a situation made worse from our main hospital being destroyed in Loki’s attack.”

“So you cannot help me uncover the truth?”

“The truth?” Helblindi furrowed his brow. “I would have thought this a simple matter. If the healers have said you are pregnant, the simple fact is that you _must_ be pregnant. I fail to see why you would need to come here for help, unless to ask further about treatment?”

“You understand that I am Asgardian, yes? Our men cannot conceive! It is bad enough that I am in an _ergi_ relationship, which is part of why I cannot publicly seek a second opinion, and it is a matter only made worse by the age of the foetus. If this were somehow natural, the child must be either three months or six months, but they claim it four-and-a-half.”

“A Jotun pregnancy is _six months_ , Thor.”

Thor turned to him with a scowl. He expected more than to be trivialised, just as he expected more than for his issue to be compared to Jotun physiology, and the cold and devastation left him in no mood to entertain non-sequiturs and riddles. Thor held his tongue when he saw Helblindi enduring confusion in turn, as eyebrows pressed together and lips quirked up at one corner in a facsimile of a smile, and they simply stared each other down until Helblindi flicked a hand in the air as if to dismiss the discomfort. Thor let out a low hiss of breath.

“You said you were intimate three months ago?” Helblindi asked. “That means you are exactly halfway through a Jotun pregnancy, which would be _roughly_ four-and-a-half months of an Asgardian pregnancy in terms of a development. It would explain the discrepancy in the dates. I should not be surprised this was not explained to you, and yet . . .”

“ _I am not a Jotun_! Why would any of this need to be explained to –”

“Thor, we share a grandfather . . . Bestla, husband to Bor.”

Thor fell silent. He let his hands slowly slide from the banister, as a low exhale of breath escaped his lips and formed like steam before his mouth, and he could only rapidly blink as he stared aimlessly into the distance. The world stopped. There was a cold silence as all sounds were blocked from his ears, until he heard only the dull thud of his heart . . . _thud, thud, thud_. . . he swayed a little as he raised a trembling hand to his head.

“You didn’t know Bestla was a Jotun,” said Helblindi.

Thor shook his head. He briefly thought back to recent events . . . _entering Jotunheim barely affected by the cold . . . Loki able to touch Thor and Odin in Jotun form, clad only with the illusion of an Asgardian . . ._ Thor dropped his hands to stomach. It meant Jotun blood coursed through his veins. He let out a broken laugh, as tears welled in his eyes, and licked awkwardly at his lips in a desperate attempt to bring back moisture, even as a cold lump formed in his throat . . . _betrayal, lies, fantasy_. . . Helblindi asked in a whisper:

“How could you not know this?”

“My grandparents died before I was born,” whispered Thor. “We were told that Bestla was an Asgardian noblewoman, while all portraits and statues depict her as an Asgardian. I remember them well, as Loki often asked about his black hair, and Mother would always point to Bestla and say that he inherited his hair from the greatest queen that ever lived.”

“Hmm, knowing what your people think of women?” Helblindi rolled his eyes. “I find it something of an insult for our greatest warrior to be depicted in such a light. It would seem – for reasons I can only speculate – your history books were rewritten, while your portraits were repainted . . . this would explain why you were raised to belief Jotuns as monsters, as they were clearly despised enough to be written out of your history books, Cousin.

“Our family trees were once so intertwined that I would have needed branch-cutters to detangle that mess, but – once Buri ascended the throne – relations grew tense between our two realms and war inevitably broke out. Bor took the crown, but the height of the war drew vast causalities to Jotunheim and Bestla left with Fárbauti to tend to the wounded.”

Thor stumbled back, until he fell against the balcony doors. He remained between the balcony and lounge, unable to leave or enter either, while he felt the cold glass beneath his fingertips . . . a novelty, as the climate in Asgard made glass less of a necessity . . . Thor watched the snow gather in the panes opposite, building like small mountains on each pane. It proved beautiful to see the ice form intricate patterns, as the snowflakes gathered, and it took all his strength to stay grounded in the moment. He choked out a pained:

“What happened next?”

Helblindi heaved a low sigh. He turned around to flip his hand palm-side up, while he used the other to conjure an illusion in the air just above, and – with tears threatening to falls – Thor watched as the true image of Bestla was revealed to him, almost like a ghost from the past and a stranger despite their familial connection. Thor reached out towards the black-haired Jotun that clearly held _some_ Asgardian blood in turn. He pulled his hand back.

“There are two versions of events,” said Helblindi. “The version I believe is that Bor Burison issued an ultimatum toward Bestla, that – if he left – he would be divorced and never allowed to return . . . Bestla could not abandon his people. He was thus declared ‘dead’.”

“So I – I am a quarter Jotun in nature? How – How can this –”

Thor slid down onto the balcony floor. He held his hands at his sides, as they trembled and closed of their own accord, and he pressed his fingers flat against his legs, as he brought them high against his chest. A terrible sensation overcame his scalp, like insects crawling and biting through hair and flesh. He screwed shut his eyes. Every breath was fast and shallow, as he fought back a wave of panic never before experienced, and he used every ounce of self-control to try and maintain an image of stoicism and confidence. He spat out:

“So my uncle Fárbauti married Laufey?”

“Indeed,” said Helblindi. “You are cousin to his three sons.”

“I – I need time to process this. I need time to think.”

Helblindi ceased the _seiðr_ in his hand. He lowered his head and feigned a polite smile, as he cast his eyes over the room beyond, and – as someone wailed below from the makeshift infirmary – he winced and rubbed at his temple with a trembling lip. Thor prayed he would leave . . . he knew that the Jotuns were a warrior race . . . he did not wish to be seen crying or trembling or murmuring . . . he wanted to grieve and think in peace . . .

“I will return in a short while,” said Helblindi.

A slow tread of footsteps echoed toward the distance. A creak of the doors revealed a few murmured words and half-heard conversations, before the doors clicked closed and a relative silence reigned, broken only by the wails of the mourning children below. He ran his hands over his stomach, under his armour and leathers, while he felt at the taut flesh and thought to the child underneath . . . already half-formed, already growing with such speed . . .

He jumped as someone sighed. Thor tilted his head to see Loki; Loki stood against the banister of the balcony, with arms folded and eyes cast low, but the smirk on his lips was at odds with the conflicted expression writ across his features. Thor let his head roll with a low laugh, as he gathered a small pile of snow at his side. He worked on the snowballs. He was able to make three by the time Loki sighed again, with a clear attempt to gain attention, and he bounced the ball in his hand as Loki locked eyes with him and shrugged.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Loki asked. “Being lied to . . .”

Thor tossed a snowball through the illusion.

“. . . being told you’re one thing and then learning it’s all fiction.”

Thor rolled his eyes and tossed another. Loki simply threw up his hands with a slight shake and curl of his fingers, as he heaved out a long sigh and glared toward Thor, and – as silence broke between them once again – Thor shrugged and tossed another. It made its way through Loki’s head and crashed over the balcony, where it landed hard on one of the infirmary tents and a Jotun shouted in criticism to whomever he believed to be the culprit.

“Stop that, Thor,” said Loki.

“How is dinner with your new brother?”

“Jealous?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Don’t be. The Jotun cuisine is mostly jerked meats and root vegetables smothered in sauces, along with a great deal of nuts and beer, and Býleistr is a warrior just like any other warrior . . . I may as well be with Volstagg or Hogun.”

“Did you know that I had Jotun blood? Was this part of your game?”

“I only learnt it over dinner. It was as much as surprise to me as it was to you, except that I was not allowed to be by your side to share in the news or provide you comfort, but – thankfully – I was able to make an excuse for the bathroom in order to check on how you coped. I cannot be long, as I do not want them thinking me ill and in need of further fuss.”

“I am a quarter-Jotun. You are half-Jotun. What would that make our child? I would guess three-quarters, but that is the least of our problems . . . this pregnancy is _real_ , Loki! How am I to tell the world I am _ergi_? Who do we say is the father?”

“ _I_ am the father,” said Loki. “That is my child.”

“Yes, _Brother_ , but can we confess that?”

Thor tossed another snowball. He curled his lip, while his trembling hand meant the snow barely hit the illusion of feet, and the anger and fear rose in equal measure . . . there was no way that he could confess to a child borne of incest, just as there was no way to confess to being an _ergi_. . . bile rose and burned the back of his throat, as he thought to the shame that would cross his father’s face and the disappointment that would cross his mother’s eyes. It was impossible to believe the pregnancy real . . . impossible to say it aloud . . .

“I must go, Thor,” said Loki. “They ask after me.”

“I will come find you soon.”

“Why do we not spend the night with Býleistr?” Loki forced a smile. “Let the news sink, make sure they will swear to secrecy, and then return home to consider our options before we commit to talking to Mother and Father. I will support you, as you supported me.”

Thor remained silent, as he tossed another snowball. The pile of snow was now decimated, revealing the smooth marble underfoot, and collecting more snow would require movement that his body was too weak to attempt. He slapped at the marble. Loki snapped his head around, as if looking to someone behind him or looking for an escape, before he jerked his head with a curse and called out ‘ _just a moment_ ’, before he frantically paced a tiny section of the balcony and blinked back tears. He clapped his hands together and swore:

“I do love you, Thor.”

The illusion dissipated as if never there. Thor watched the empty space, as snowflakes drifted with a sudden burst of wind, and – with a low laugh – struggled to hold back tears in turn, as they ran down his cheeks until he tasted salt. The emotion built and built, as he thought to his Jotun blood and Jotun physiology . . . a child he was too young to properly father, a child whose parent he could never reveal . . . an ergi status . . . it was too much to bear.

Thor wept.


	3. Chapter 3

“You lied to me, Father.”

Thor stood tall in the doorway. He clenched his hands into tight fists, until knuckles turned white and crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his palm, and he breathed deep as he cast a cold eye over the meeting room, where every official and nobleman stared with interest. A raised hand from Odin was enough to dismiss them, until every single man and woman marched past and through the now open doors, until there was only a lingering silence.

The doors were closed behind him with a click, leaving Thor alone with Odin at last. Odin stood before a vast array of tables, each one filled with various papers and models, and several contracts lay half-signed and half-written, while he raised his head and narrowed his gaze with a flare of his nostrils. It was all Thor could do to hold back his rage, as his heart pounded in his ears and a cold sweat broke over his flesh. Tears pricked at his eyes. He marched forward with cape fluttering behind him, as he screamed out:

“ _You lied to me_!”

Odin kept his ground, even as Thor stopped short of the table. He slammed his hands down onto the cold wood, mimicking the position and body language of Odin, while his lip trembled and a hard lump formed in his throat. A cold breeze burst through the open windows, nearly bringing laughter from Thor . . . it all made sense now . . . _open balconies, windows without panes, fires limited only to communal spaces_. . . this was a palace designed for one always warm and in need of cold. Thor lowered his head with a wince.

He said nothing. A gentle sound of music drifted from outside, where an instrument was played far below to a familiar tune, and the clash of metal-on-metal betrayed a sparring match in the yards beyond, where laughter sounded loud and joyful despite recent events. Thor raised his head and swallowed back the lump in his throat, while his eyes stung with the unshed tears, and he could barely control his breath as Odin spat:

“Do not talk to your king with such disrespect, Thor.”

“What respect do I owe a liar?”

“My patience wears thin,” warned Odin. “I had thought this arrogant attitude had finally been combated. You saw and experienced so much on Midgard, proving yourself a worthy prince and a future king, but here you are . . . slandering my person, engaging in such violence . . .  I expected better from my eldest son. Do I truly mean so little to you, Thor?”

“You are right,” said Thor. “I have learned a great deal. I have learnt that my actions may often be interpreted different to how I intended, as well as that no race is ever homogeneous, and I have learnt that I must think before I speak to any person. What have _you_ learned?”

“You tread on very thin ice, my son. Be careful what you say next.”

The remaining eye turned into a dangerous slit. Odin looked over Thor, who struggled to find enough courage to make his frustrations known, and time appeared to stop between them, as every muscle in Thor’s body tensed and bulged with intense pressure. He pushed away from the table and buried his face in his hands, while he breathed deep and slow in a desperate attempt to centre himself from his increasing rage. Self-control was vital . . .

Thor thought to his time with the healers, with the past three months engaging in brief therapy sessions to better deal with his anger and the depression that stemmed from recent events, but no amount of ‘counting to ten’ or ‘controlled breathing’ could cease the rush of adrenaline that burst through every vein. Odin scoffed. He was insulted and frustrated by the silence, enough that he walked away . . . _slow footsteps, muttered complaints_. . . Thor knew that if Odin left now, he might never find the courage again. It would be over.

 “I know I am a Jotun,” called Thor.

Odin stopped dead. A shuddered sigh escaped his lips, before he turned with a clink and clatter of his decorative armour. Thor remained with his back to Odin; every beat of his heart crashed ever faster and louder, while a sickening dizzy sensation caused his body to sway, and – grabbing onto the table for balance – panic increased as he thought to his unborn child and the recent fainting spells. Odin slowly stepped toward him. The footsteps were slow and deliberate, until he stopped only a few inched from Thor and asked in a breathless whisper:

“Where did you hear such lies?”

A wrinkled hand touched at the polished wood; Thor noticed the spots borne from age, with scars obtained from battle, and – for one cruel second – he saw the humanity in a figure always so perfect through the eyes of a child. He remembered well the cold touches, as Odin hugged him or patted his head or tended to wounds, and he wondered what skin lack beneath the now obvious illusion. Thor cast his eyes over Odin, as he struggled to clear his vision from the blurred shapes and doubled-objects, but luckily his vision soon focussed.

“You gave Loki leave to use his hidden pathways to Jotunheim,” said Thor. “You restricted his _seiðr_ to stop him eluding surveillance, but you encouraged his attempts to build a relationship with Helblindi and to pay recompense for his actions. I went with him on such an excursion. Imagine my surprise to discover that Helblindi is my cousin.”

“That does not make you Jotun, Thor. You are an Asgardian prince.”

“I have Jotun blood, do I not? It means I am part-Jotun in nature. I cannot deny this part of my heritage, especially knowing that my grandfather was Jotun in turn, and yet you allowed me to hate this part of myself . . . to live in ignorance of my blood . . . _why_?”

Thor licked at his lips, as tears soon fell over his cheeks. The roll of liquid was uncomfortable, reminding him of his weakness before one so strong, and yet – even as he cursed his vulnerability – there was an almost imperceptible wince from Odin, so small that he may have failed to notice had it not been for the lack of eye contact. _Shame_. Odin drew in a deep breath and held it until he was forced by survival to exhale. There was a shimmer to his eye.

“I did not think you would ever need to know,” confessed Odin.

“Did you think I would never find out?”

“Asgard and Jotunheim no longer engaged in communication,” said Odin. “It was part of our peace treaties to forbid passage of our people into either realm, while any words were sent by specific messengers recruited from a neutral third-party realm, and Laufey was under the impression that Loki had been murdered as a babe. He did later learn that I had a second child, but – knowing my heritage in turn – assumed Loki merely shared the same name.

“I could not risk losing Loki! Why I took him, I do not know . . . I simply remember seeing an innocent child discarded and abandoned in an empty temple, where he responded so well to me that I gained an insight into the potential of his mind, and I knew then that I would always love him. How could I tell the son I loved that he was a Jotun?”

“Why not at least confess to _your_ Jotun blood?”

“If either of you learned that you were a quarter-Jotun, it would have potentially pushed you towards Jotunheim to either punish them or educate yourselves, and – regardless of whether you hated them or were curious – you would risk revealing Loki to Laufey. It would mean the loss of my son at best, but the risk of outright war at the very worst. I could not risk either.

“What did it matter, in any case? You are attracted solely to women, while Loki is more engaged with his books than the genitalia of others, and so I did not need to concern myself with your physiologies betraying your Asgardian identities. My blood causes me to feel the warmth more than most, as such the palaces are always kept cool, and I knew in turn that Loki would not learn through such differences. I always wanted him to feel he belonged.”

Thor laughed low and hard. He brought a hand instinctively to his stomach, where he fought back the building nausea and the restless urge to rest, and he lightly brushed his fingers until they found a small sliver of skin, where he thought to the purity of Odin and Loki’s blood, more so than what he experienced and equal to what his child would possess. Would the infant be Jotun in form? Would the child suffer in the Asgardian climes? Thor blinked back tears and furrowed his brow, as he quirked his head towards Odin.    

“Loki never felt he belonged,” whispered Thor.

“History has often been rewritten, Thor.” Odin sighed. “Your grandfather rewrote our books and destroyed our murals, so that no trace of Bestla survived, and I have had cause to rewrite events since then in turn. I was strict with Loki, as I was too lenient with other relatives within our fold . . . I did not wish for him to become a danger like them.”

“Did you blame their actions for their Jotun blood? Do you blame your mistakes on your Jotun blood? This is not even _about_ Loki, although – God only knows – he would have coped better had he not believed himself to be a monster! This is about me. _You lied to me_.”

“What was I supposed to say, Thor? Hmm?” Odin curled his lip. “Did you wish to hear how my father – the Jotun that bore me – could not love me enough to stay in my life? Do you wish to hear how a man that _prides_ himself on strength and wisdom cried himself to sleep every night, until he realised the cold truth that he was beyond the love of even a monster? I could not bear to look myself in the mirror . . . a creature neither one thing nor another . . .

“I would have rather died than wrought that fate upon my boys. Every time I looked to Loki, it was clear he was a sensitive soul . . . potentially _ergi_ , which would bring a slew of prejudices in itself . . . I was to throw an unnecessary burden onto his already heavy load? I knew what I endured, just as I knew what he would endure. No. I would not harm him.”

“But to make us believe that the Jotuns were monsters?”

Thor ran a hand through his hair. To hear his father confess to self-doubt and self-hatred startled him, enough that he stepped back from the tables and walked toward the open balconies, where he struggled to envision a world so fundamentally against the Jotun people and hiding a Jotun form in the process. He stopped with his hands on the banister, where the Asgardian realm lay out before him. Lights sparkled in all directions, while people milled to and fro on daily tasks, and he said nothing as Odin came to stand beside him. Odin asked:

“Do the Jotuns not believe us monsters in turn?”

The tone betrayed a hint of uncertain fear. Thor caught the purse of lips in the corner of his vision, as if a yearning desire fought with burning hatred, and he knew that Odin shared something deep with Loki . . . a need to be wanted and a need to destroy the darkness inside of him, which was ascribed to the Jotun blood. A cool breeze rustled their hair and took the colour from their skin, as Thor tilted his head and half-closed his eyes in appreciation.

“It is what they said about _you_ ,” confessed Thor.

“Ah, so I am the bogeyman that has snatched away their heir?” Odin scoffed. “I am the man that saved an abandoned babe left to die alone, who ended a campaign of decimation and colonisation, and has brought peace to all nine realms. I am not surprised.”

“So you kept the truth from us to protect us from shame?”

“Every day I live in fear of being revealed, Thor.”

Silence descended again. Fandral and Sif sparred far below in the training yards, where a crowd of men gathered around in rapt attention, and in the gardens Frigga picked flowers while a friend played the lute, but nowhere did anyone look pained or broken. It was a stark contrast to the Jotuns whose dead piled rooms of the palace, waiting to be buried when there were so few able-bodied available to dig the mass graves. Odin and Loki may have suffered the prejudice taught by a conflicted Bor, but Thor could share in those emotions.

“We need to help Jotunheim,” demanded Thor.

He touched his stomach once more, as he closed his eyes again. In the distance a child cried, while someone sang to comfort the distressed infant, and his hand clenched into a fist over the distended skin with a light press to remind himself of what was at risk. Odin said nothing, even as awkwardness singed the air between them, and he opened his eyes to see that Odin stared at his hand with eyebrows knitted together, as if he sought to discern the cause of the strange behaviour and words. Odin hummed as he cricked at his neck.

“That is not possible,” said Odin. “It is estimated that the Bifrost will take over a year to complete, although it is a conservative estimate . . . I am aware that Laufey never modernised the cities, particularly after the Casket was confiscated –”

“ _Stolen_ ,” corrected Thor.

“In any case, Asgard is now isolated from all others.”

“Loki knows ways in and out of Asgard,” muttered Thor. “I know it would take more _seiðr_ than you could justifiable expend, but you could also use dark magic for a one-time trip, too. I only know that Helblindi believes you care nothing for their devastation, while Loki would not teach you all his secret ways, but perhaps . . . perhaps he will teach you _this_ way.”

“You wish for me to speak with Helblindi?”

“We must promise resources once the Bifrost is completed. If you will not do it from goodwill, you must do it to avoid war with other realms. There are treaties with Jotunheim, with Jotunheim declared a neutral ally to all other realms since the war, and those realms will not let this go unpunished. If we can make amends, we can stave off the worse. It will not prevent hits to our trade or reputation, but it will be enough to fend off war.”

Odin pressed his lips into a tight line. The chances were that he would leave such a meeting for several weeks, in order to preserve the image that such political talks were his idea and choice, and – while it would irk Helblindi to be forgotten for so long – it would not be _so_ long for any help to be unnecessary or unwanted . . . a token gesture. Thor dropped his hands to the banister, as the cool marble soothed his warm skin, and he pushed back just enough to retain an image of strength and stoicism. He said in a slow and calm voice:

“I also wish to learn about Jotun customs.”

“Why, Thor?” Odin asked.

Thor shook his head with a smile. He pinched the bridge of his nose, while he fought to control the heartbeat that had previously slowed, and turned his back on the Asgardian landscape to gaze inside the meeting rooms, where gold leaf covered every surface. It was difficult to find joy in the beautiful aesthetics, when the screams of mournful children still echoed in his ears and would invade his dreams. Thor walked into the rooms.

The statues of previous kings lined the walls, each visible between the tall columns, and the visage of Bor stood most recent towards the main doors, where cold eyes looked out over the rooms he once ruled and the palace he once possessed. Thor stopped at the tables; papers detailed the latest demands of the people, with new buildings to be erected and new trade deals to be agreed, and he laughed to see that a silk shortage took precedence over a realm now without basic access to food or medical treatment. He shoved the papers away.

“It is a part of my identity,” explained Thor. “I am not like you or Loki. I need to know where I came from in order to understand _who_ I am, and I deserve to know the truth about my Jotun grandfather and his people . . . to rewrite history and paint him as an Asgardian is an insult to his person, which is more than I can abide. I want to learn their language, their history . . .”

“Be wary, Thor. They are not your people, but _we_ are your family. Do not forget who raised you, disciplined you, and praised you! I was the one who mediated your fights, that tended to your scrapes, and that loved you unconditionally . . . not those people.”

“‘Those people’ will be the family of my unborn child!”

Odin stumbled forward. The clatter of his armour pierced the room, as he quickly marched toward Thor who jerked his head with a curse, and yet – before he could find words to hide the truth – two hands grabbed at his upper arms and yanked him around, before they shook him with a harsh hold that bruised his skin. Lines on Odin’s skin deepened, as his cheeks paled with a horror unmatched by anything before witnessed. Odin choked out:

“You have impregnated a Jotun?”

It was a fear that ran deep, perhaps to memories stemming from a seemingly difficult childhood, and Thor could only imagine what pain it would bring to imagine a child with a Jotun parent, when Odin had endured the abandonment of such a parent and the fear of discrimination from such blood. Still, this came from the belief Thor was the one to impregnate another . . . Thor grew dizzy once more . . . shaking away Odin, he raised his hands to his temples and pressed hard as tears blurred his vision.

“No,” said Thor. “ _I_ am pregnant.”

Odin fell back. He opened his mouth without sound, while eyes widened and hands trembled, and he cast his gaze slowly down to a rounded stomach, where he shook his head with a continuous motion that shook loose his hair. _Shock. Fear. Disgust_. Thor spun around to avoid the shame of facing the inevitable reactions and questions . . . unable to face his own demons, impossible to face the demons of others . . . Thor did all that he could do:

Thor walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Thor marched forward.

The doors slammed shut behind him, silencing all conversation and echoing about the walls, and – as he paused with all eyes on him – the fires raged centre of the rooms, where the healing stones absorbed energy and waited to be taken from the flames. A great deal of warmth spread out from the flickering flames, where shadows scattered about the floor and danced with intricate patterns. A cool breeze drifted in through the open balcony.

Volstagg sat nursing a burn on his neck, obtained from a recent battle. The seared skin ran in a long line and let loose a heavy scent like burned meat, but the stones pressed to his neck absorbed the worst until it slowly receded, and yet Hogun still fussed about beside him to check the progress of the healing process. Fandral lay alone opposite them on a cushioned bench, with head resting high on a pile of pillows and hands clasped behind his head, while Sif paced back and forth with hands clenching and unclenching at her side.

Thor huffed and stormed forward. He flung himself onto a bench between the two sets of friends, before throwing back his head and running his hands over his bearded face, and eyes watered as he rapidly blinked and strove to control every breath. Sif walked towards him, with the heels of leather boots striking the tiled floor in a rhythmic pattern, and sat beside him as she squeezed at his shoulder with a bright smile. Sif whispered:

“Do you know how worried we were, Thor?”

He yanked away from her touch. The hand lingered, even as she jerked it with the surprise of his rejection, and her eyes moved from face to face in search of an answer, as he pushed his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. Thor heaved a staggered sigh and whispered an apology, before he dropped his hands between his parted legs and grasped them tight until knuckles turned white. A loud sigh echoed from Fandral who sat upright and cricked his neck, and – with a roll of his shoulders – he forced a smile in an attempt to break the tension.

“I’m surprised you made it out of Jotunheim alive,” teased Fandral.

“Thor? No,” laughed Volstagg. “I never worried about our Thor! They were probably awaiting on an apology and a spokesperson to sort out that whole mess we started, and maybe some ratifying of new peace treaties, but _Loki_. . . ah . . . that may have caused a bit of a stir! I can’t imagine that going down well at all. If anyone were to not make it out alive -?”

“Loki is a Jotun,” said Sif. “It does not matter what they think of him, as he is the blood of Laufey and by their laws he is family and a valid heir. Did they not ask him to pay recompense by helping to rebuild their realm? They will not do him harm.”

“Where is Loki?” Hogun asked.

Thor dropped his hands and rapidly blinked. There was lingering blurs and scatterings of colour on his vision, made from the pressure applied to his eyes, and he licked awkwardly at his lips as she saw their concern and endured their full attention. A smile graced his lips, forced and trembling, but he could not stand the weight of the gesture . . . the smile fell . . . he sighed again and covered his mouth with his hands. He feared tears would fall. Thor cast his eyes to Hogun, knowing his stoic façade would not put any pressure on him to elaborate.

“Loki will return later,” murmured Thor.

Fandral scoffed and opened his mouth wide, as if with a question already present on his lips, but a raised hand from Volstagg silenced him. The fire crackled between them. A silence lingered, broken only by occasional hisses of pain from Volstagg and mumbled complaints from Fandral, and beside him Sif breathed deep and tensed every muscle in her frame, as she angled her body toward him and sat astride the bench. He was being rude, but every word spoken threatened to be the word to break him. Sif asked in a low voice:

“You did not return together?”

“We spent the night with Býleistr,” said Thor. “It was an enjoyable evening, more than I ever expected from a Jotun, and I was surprised by how deep their culture runs, as I half-expected barbarians unable to tell their left from right. They grieved. They _mourned_ for their dead! I found a shrine to Býleistr’s lost son in the room they gave me, something so – so – so _human_ , and I could not bear to let things go by without confronting our father . . .

“We must do more to help the Jotuns. There were also . . . _other_ matters. Loki sent me back alone, so that I could confront the Allfather, and he is residing currently with Býleistr, as he is forbidden entry into the palaces. He complains every time he has leave to speak freely, but I believe he greatly relishes the way they welcome him into their small fold.”

“Hardly explains this dreadful mood,” teased Fandral.

“My talk with father did not go well. I think he will delay speaking with the Jotuns to save face, but he will eventually talk to them, but there are other issues . . . things personal and things I dare not say aloud . . .  I fear that is why Loki stayed behind, as he feared too much being present for yet another fight in his mental state. I cannot say if that was a wise decision, as I fled before I could witness my father’s reaction. I could not bear his disappointment.”

Thor stood and walked to the fireplace. The open flames warmed his skin, but there was no sweat like Loki experienced and no discomfort a Jotun endured, and yet – as he dropped his hand to his stomach – he knew what blood ran through his veins. He traced patterns over the flesh, while the other pressed to warm metal of the fireplace. He stared into the flames. The way they danced and flickered was a fair distraction, enough he failed to notice as Fandral slapped a hand on his back and Sif squeezed at his arm. Fandral offered:

“Well, why don’t we take your mind off things?”

“A sparring match,” mumbled Hogun.

“Yes, a sparring match,” chirped Volstagg. “A grand idea!”

Volstagg winced as his theatrical punch pulled at his wound. Thor smiled at the optimistic attitude, more so when Hogun nodded with a half-smile in acknowledgement, and he knew – without any doubt – his friends supported him with unconditional love . . . _unconditional_. . . Thor dropped his smile. The hand at his stomach trembled, as he struggled to draw in a deep enough breath to fight back the nausea and dizziness. Fandral held him.

“I cannot spar,” whispered Thor.

The air grew thick with every breath, while his vision sparkled with many lights. It was the sensation just before sleep, like the world was fading around him and every muscle grew limp, and soon he fell to his side as Fandral and Sif struggled to hold his weight. He came around on the balcony; fresh air helped bring him to consciousness, while Hogun pressed a healing stone to his brow that he lightly smacked away with a roll of his head, and he murmured ‘I’m fine’ even as Fandral dropped down to sit beside him with a gentle nudge to his side.

“You can’t be _that_ depressed, old chap,” teased Fandral.

“He simply does not want to lose to a woman,” added Sif. “It is understandable, as I could easily take out any man in this room. I will go easy for our prince, however. I will even be willing to fight with one hand tied behind my back. I will still win best out of three.”

“Ah, I would take a bet on that,” laughed Volstagg. “I will bet on Thor!”

“What do you say, Thor? Will you continue to mope or fight?”

“I tell you,” said Thor. “I cannot fight you or anyone.”

“Come on,” said Fandral. “Why not?”

They waited with strained smiled, evidently hoping the cause to be depression, even as they feared for something far more sinister in cause. Thor reached out to grasp Volstagg’s hand and squeezed with affection, while his other grabbed at Fandral’s knee with a firm hold, and – letting out a staggered breath – he fought back the tears that struggled to remain hidden. A cold fear struck through him, as the words stuck in his throat . . . bile burned, food rose . . . he feared so little in his life, but he was truly terrified. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“I am pregnant,” said Thor.

A terrible silence swept over the balcony. The only sounds were the crackling of the fires and metal-on-metal from the training yards below, and Thor closed his eyes and focussed on the life that swarmed around him, even as Hogun dropped the stone away and Fandral collapsed back against the railing behind them. Sif stumbled back a few steps, while Volstagg contented himself with a mouth that opened and closed with rapid and silent movements.

Thor laughed and blinked back tears, as he struggled to climb to his feet. Volstagg shot out a hand to steady him, but – unable to endure the quiet judgement – he gently pushed away and wandered back towards the fire, where he collapsed forward with weight on his hands. A fluttering sensation struck his stomach, as if butterflies were swallowed and strove to escape, and he ran his hand over the skin with a nauseous groan. Fandral soon followed and stopped by his side, while the others congregated around him. Fandral choked out:

“You – I – It – . . . _what_?”

Sif dropped a hand onto his shoulder, where she massaged at the muscle with a hiss of breath, and Hogun found a spot to sit on the sidelines, where he grunted with a non-committal sound and clasped his hands between his legs with a furrowed brow. Time stopped. Thor wanted nothing more than to return to the healers or retreat to bed, desperate for something to stop the clenching in his stomach and the sensation of acid rises in his chest, but he knew they deserved answers. He turned to stare aimlessly at the floor with a shrug.

“I am pregnant,” repeated Thor.

“You – You _can’t_ be,” said Fandral. “You – You are – You are our _prince_. . . our _friend_ . . . we’ve fought together and defeated many a foe, and I’ve known you since childhood, and – ah – I think I would have _noticed_ if you were _argy_. How would it even be possible, anyway? I know you – you – you . . . lack the equipment. We bathed together when camping, I saw –”

“It appears I am half-Jotun.” Thor ran his hands over his face. “My grandfather married a Jotun, only to rewrite history when the relationship dissolved, and my father hid the truth in turn out of shame and fear and self-hatred. It is why I never thought to use contraception.”

“A better contraception would be abstinence,” muttered Hogun.

“Would you suggest that if I laid with women?”

“I thought you did,” said Volstagg. “I mean – come on, old chap – you have to see why this is a bit of a shock! You are a man with more muscles than all of us combined, with the intelligence to pick up languages even Loki fails to comprehend. Everyone adores you and respects you! What man could possibly have been strong enough to – to – ah – I –”

“To fuck me?” Thor asked. “Why would they need strength?”

“Well, you didn’t . . . you didn’t consent to be taken like that, did you?”

Fear was writ across Volstagg’s expression. The usually tanned skin paled, while lips trembled and remained parted, and he leaned forward just enough to be close to Thor and yet still give him some personal space. Fandral soon clicked onto the insinuation, as the colour drained from his expression in turn, but his fear quickly turned to rage, as he ranted threats to any man that dared touch their friend . . . _‘I will see him castrated for this offence’, ‘we must seek the healers for therapy’, ‘why did you not tell us sooner?’_. . . Thor growled.

“No man has raped me,” he spat.

It was a cold accusation. He knew rationally they had no means to assume Loki the father, but the idea that Loki – even in the abstract – could be considered a rapist . . . his heart raced, his mouth ran dry, and his hands trembled. Fandral let his mouth fall open, as his shoulders sagged and a long sigh escaped his lips. Sif touched at Thor again. It was a gentle touch, but it did little to eradicate the tension that brought an ache to his muscles. Fandral whispered:

“Then why consent to become less of a man?”

“I am still the same man,” roared Thor.

He yanked away his arm from Sif. The rage was white-hot through his veins, tinged with fear and shame, and – as he staggered away from them – Hogun lightly patted the bench beside him, where Thor collapsed on it with little grace. Sif came to sit on his other side, but refrained from physical contact when Hogun raised a hand. Fandral paced. Volstagg was still lost, as he picked up healing stones and then dropped them again, ever shaking his head.

It brought deep fears, as he clasped his hands over his stomach. The flesh was firm and taught beneath his hands, like leather stretched across a metal hilt, and the size was round in a way unusual for weight and natural girth, as well as larger than to be expected at his point of development. He would soon be a parent . . . a ‘mother’ . . . he remembered too well Frigga and Loki . . . _‘she trains me in secret as he would object to a woman engaging in such manly pursuits’ . . ._ Fandral broke Thor from his despair with a cleared throat.

“I meant no offence,” mumbled Fandral.

“This is not something they have often experienced,” added Hogun.

“But you think less of me?” Thor asked. “We were intimate since I turned sixteen, and I have been dating this man exclusively since I was around fifty-five, but we only _truly_ consummated our union six months ago. I conceived this child three months ago. It was our second time, but we wanted to celebrate my coronation together. It was romantic.”

“But how can you be romantic with a man?” Fandral asked.

“What has changed? I was fooling around with him when I first met Hogun and Volstagg. I was exclusive him when I first fought with Sif in our most raucous battle. I was fucking him when I proved myself worthy and prevented an act of genocide! Why am I less of a man?”

“Well – I – I mean . . .” Fandral furrowed his brow. “I don’t know!”

“Am I less of a person, too?” Sif asked.

It was her first question since the revelation. Sif sat with her back straight and her head held high, with her eyes firmly locked on Fandral who flushed a bright shade of red, and she completed the look with hands firmly on her hips. A cool breeze blew through the balcony doors, brushing at her hair and cooling his cheeks where it struck against tearstains, and – as Thor wiped at his face – another flutter struck his stomach. Fandral sighed and collapsed back against the fireplace, as he pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged the skin.

“You’re a woman, Sif,” said Fandral.

“I cannot blame his confusion,” added Volstagg. “I am shocked that our friend has submitted to a man, but I think – well – as long as it’s a consensual relationship -? We don’t have much right to judge what goes on behind closed doors, although I do have many questions! The pleasure comes from penetration, correct? So why one would want to submit?”

“So your wife feels no pleasure in your marital bed?” Sif asked.

Volstagg balked with choked and spluttered sounds. It was unusual to see him so speechless, especially with a bright blush painting his cheeks and his eyes so wide, and – with murmured squeaks – he glanced from face to face in search of some defence. Sif quirked an eyebrow and awaited a reply, as he avoided eye-contact and fiddled with the healing stones in search of a way to occupy his hands. Thor thought there would be no reply, until finally he let out a low cough and waved a hand lazily in the air with a low shrug and subtle wince.

“You are being inappropriate,” murmured Volstagg.

“Ah, I do remember this _one_ time,” chirped Fandral. “I had this _beautiful_ maiden in my bed, after a lot of heavy-petting in the taverns, and – well – it’s hard to find her kind in this day-and-age, but I was able to slip her a few coins. She did this thing with her finger, which had me seeing stars! I remember I did joke that it was enough to turn me _ergi_.”

“Indeed,” added Sif. “I have lain with many women before Haldor, but those relationships did not define me or make me less of a person. Is it simply because I am _already_ seen as less of a person simply for being a woman? Am I thus beyond such stains?”

“Oh, that’s different. You can’t _penetrate_ another person.”

“I can and I have! Do you know there are toys in other realms? There are pieces of plastic designed to imitate one’s manhood, which Haldor enjoyed greatly when I used it inside him, but would you call him less of a man? Why is it that a woman exploring her sexuality is far more acceptable than a man in a committed relationship? Oh, I think I know.”

“Sif, don’t do that. Don’t make this a feminist issue.”

“Is it not simply that you think two women together a source of arousal? This realm sees women as weak and sensual, a source of pleasure, and – as Volstagg said – you do not even think the receptive partner capable of pleasure, which speaks volumes of your prowess.”

“I have pleased _many_ a woman, thank you,” snapped Fandral.

“Then why could not Thor have found pleasure?”

Fandral matched Volstagg for his reddened face. He stood open-mouthed like a fish, as he stared off into space, and – after several long seconds – Fandral came around to sit on the adjacent bench beside Thor, while he scratched at his neck with a low hum. It was a promising sound, although Thor struggled to control how his heart raced, and he watched Fandral from the corner of his eye with teeth dug into his lower lip. He tasted iron from the force of the bite, but swallowed hard without a single word. Thor waited for Fandral to speak.

“I admit, it is an outdated prejudice,” said Fandral.

Sif scoffed, but her smile betrayed her relief at a final admission. A staggered sigh escaped Thor’s lips, as he ran his hands through his hair and smiled at Fandral, who – with a wince – mouthed a meek ‘sorry’ and cast his gaze away with a blush. Volstagg laughed and took a seat beside Fandral, as Sif reached out and held onto Thor’s forearm. The warm touch provided a small comfort, especially combined by Hogun’s hand on his back, and Thor smiled to realise that he still had their support. Hogun nodded to him in acknowledgement.

“Why a man?” Hogun asked.

“I cannot help who I love,” said Thor. “I spent much of my youth flirting and fooling around with women, but I was never able to . . . go all the way. It was a source of embarrassment, especially as I gained a reputation as a womaniser and promiscuous person, and I fought for centuries to drop that same reputation. This man was the only person I have ever been able to maintain an interest, as well as the only person to make me feel loved.

“I have flirted with many women. It is harmless, much as how he teases and antagonises others, and I do not mean to seduce any more than he seeks for violence, but somehow our natures complement each other. I will flirt with him until he can endure no more, just as he will aggravate me under the adrenaline roars, and . . . it is good . . . very good.”

“But why do all the way?” Volstagg asked. “Could you not –?”

“I have noticed that same-sex relationships are accepted, so long as one male is not assumed to be ‘dominant’ over the other.” Thor shook his head. “Who are we to make such assumptions or ask such questions? You would never dream to ask Sif about her latest conquests. You were horrified to be asked about what happens in your marital bed. Why is it that my personal life is open to investigation? I am no different from you.”

A comfortable silence broke between them. Volstagg smiled and raised a hand in surrender, as he shook his head and indicated there would be no more questions, and – with a long sigh – Thor felt as if things were shifting back to normal . . . they accepted him. The burn on Volstagg’s neck was nearly fully healed, only a mere sliver of a line on otherwise unblemished skin, and Volstagg returned to nursing his wound with a healing stone, as he hummed out a low tune. Sif squeezed again at his arm and tilted her head.

“Who is the father?” Sif asked.

Thor pressed his lips into a tight line, as he flinched and lowered his gaze. He stared aimlessly at the tiles beneath his feet, as he memorised every crack and every stain, while he thought back to the many stolen embraces . . . _‘you feel so good, Brother’, ‘to think our future king would so willingly submit to another’, ‘how does it feel to have me inside you?’_. . . Thor clenched out of instinct, as he flushed red and rubbed at his mouth.

It was impossible to provide an answer. He turned to face the balcony, where all of Asgard lay before them barely visible over the marble railing at such a distance, and he wondered whether Loki had yet returned and what he would want known. A rolling sensation struck at his stomach forcing him to draw in a deep breath, as he wrapped his arms around his abdomen and cricked at his neck. The breeze grew stronger, cooling his skin as all eyes fell on him, and he strove to avoid their curious and patient expectations for a name.

“I cannot yet say,” said Thor.

“Does he know you’re – er – pregnant?” Fandral asked.

“I have told him, but he has yet to process his reaction.” Thor shrugged. “I know he will support me, but it is too late to end this pregnancy even if I wished, and I can only wait until he is ready to tell the world about our union. It must be a decision made together.”

“See, _this_ is why such men are so _selfish_!” Fandral rolled his eyes. “They expect someone else to endure the stigma of being _ergi_ , while they simply get to have their fun and run. Even if I was that way inclined, I could not bring myself to do that to someone I loved . . . I feel for Thor, but where is this father now that cannot even face his actions?”

“I cannot do this,” murmured Thor.

Thor stood with hands fisted at his sides. The insult to Loki was unintentional, but it was more than he could stand. He clenched his fists until veins bulged on his forearms, while every heartbeat pounded over and over in his ears, until his head swam and vision blurred. It was an unbearable frustration, mingled with a desire for catharsis . . . the adrenaline of sex, the rush of battle . . . anything to let loose the conflicted emotions. Thor spat:

“I am going to train.”

He strode over toward the main doors, walking by Volstagg and Fandral as he held his head high with the pride and determination of a prince, but – before he could walk by – Volstagg stood and shot out a hand to grasp at his arm. It was a firm hold, impossible to break without risking harm to Volstagg. Thor stood in place, while he lowered his head and breathed fast with loud exhales, and his free hand came again to his stomach, even as he tried to push thoughts about the unborn child away from his mind. He swallowed back his tears.

“Let me go,” said Thor.

Volstagg slowly released his grasp, but raised his hands to gesture for calm. Thor rolled his shoulders and pursed his lips, even as his hands remained clasped over his stomach, The fire continued to roar, only every broken by the breeze that sent embers simmering and flaring with the brusque touch, and the shadows cast on served to deepen the lines on Volstagg’s face and age him beyond his years. He bore a sympathetic smile, with eyes watered.

“You cannot train while pregnant,” whispered Volstagg.

“He’s right,” said Sif. “I cannot imagine what you must experience, but you cannot risk bringing harm to the child through a misplaced blow or an oncoming attack. You feel frustrated now, but would you really want to add grief to your pain?”

“What am I to do, Sif?” Thor sat back down. “My friends already think less of me, while now I am to sacrifice my few pleasures for a child that I never asked to bear? I cannot drink. I cannot fight. I cannot even stress about my predicament! Do you know what it is like to be told how to _feel_ , as if I can control my very emotions? My body is no longer my own, but so too is no longer my soul, and everyone thinks of me as a different person.

“I need my friends more than anything, right now. I need Loki at my side, and it pains me more than I can bear to admit that he would think it right to stay in Jotunheim, and I feel alone here for the first time. Do you all only care more about my sexual preferences than the life that I carry? Am I really to be nothing but an ‘ _ergi’_ from now on?”

“Of course not,” said Fandral. “You are Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard! Even with a child in your belly, you are still the most intimidating force in this entire palace. It’s just . . . a shock, that’s all. It is difficult to reassess all one was taught in a matter of minutes.”

“I’m rather excited to be an uncle,” chirped Volstagg. “It’ll be such a cute baby!”

“I am not surprised, Thor,” said Sif. “You were always open-minded to new experiences.”

“And open legged,” teased Hogun.

Thor laughed and tossed a healing stone toward Hogun. It was caught with a laugh in turn, before Hogun tossed it back into the flames, and something passed between them reminiscent of old times . . . sparring matches, jesting comments . . . equals . . . Thor clasped a hand on Volstagg’s shoulder and squeezed with a nod of his head, before he smiled and turned to face the others with a staggered sigh. He lowered his voice and asked in a whisper:

“You do not hate me?”

“We will still need _time_ ,” said Fandral. “I still cannot comprehend why anyone would _want_ to submit to a man, but – ah – I recognise that is _my_ issue . . . I do not think less of you, but I am confused by matters, so – please – be patient with me? I mean, the _argy_ men are still the butt of every joke, and speaking of butts -? I have to ask how it even accommodates the girth of –”

“And I think that’s enough of that?” Volstagg blushed red with an embarrassed smile. “It certainly doesn’t change how I think of you, Thor, but you cannot deny that romance is a large part of one’s life when it strikes. Will it still be appropriate to discuss certain matters? After all, I would not talk about certain dysfunctions or bodily emissions in front of a lady. I always hold my tongue around Lady Sif, for example, but then you are the same man so –”

“Since when do you hold your tongue around me?” Sif asked.

“You told her about your boil,” said Hogun.

“Okay, well, maybe I don’t hold back, then.” Volstagg furrowed his brow. “I was sure that I did, but – now I think about it – Sif is like an honorary man! Not that Thor would be an ‘honorary’ man, as he _is_ a man, but is he still a man if he has a uterus and carries a baby inside him? Ah, your questions are catching, Fandral! I fear I have many.”

“Same-sex relations are not unusual in my realm,” said Hogun.

Thor jumped a little, as he stared open-mouthed to Hogun. The revelation was new to him and his understanding of Vanaheim, even knowing his mother held Vanir blood, and he struggled to comprehend a world in which two men could walk hand-in-hand. Thor absently stroked at his stomach, while Hogun – true to form – said nothing further and kept his stoic façade. Volstagg returned to his seat, as he took a stone from the fire in passing, and soon nursed the remains of his wound with a sigh of relief. The fire blazed every stronger.

“Really?” Thor asked. “That is news to me.”

“We expect our people to procreate, to carry on the family lines,” said Hogun. “It matters not whether they are male or female, so long as the name of each family does not die out, and – with that in mind – many a youngest child has forsaken marriage as others can continue the line on their behalf. They are free to marry men or women. They are content.”

“I think he’s saying he doesn’t think less of you either,” said Fandral.

“I think more for your courage. That is the truth.”

Thor struggled to hold back the tears again. The emotion boiled inside him, as he laughed through a trembling smile, and rubbed at his face with a crick of his neck, while he appreciated the support of those that mattered most. Every face smiled back at him, while some waved and others mock-saluted, and – ever since his time on Earth – he felt a spark of camaraderie for the first time that could not be matched. He took a seat between Volstagg and Fandral, before draping his arms around them with a smile. Fandral asked in a low voice:

“Just give us time to process things.”

“We’ll be here for you every step of the way,” chirped Volstagg. “Just . . . forgive us if we make mistakes or speak out of turn, ay, lad? This is all new to us. Well, some of us . . . it seems Sif and Hogun may be a little more enlightened. You have our support, though!”

“Just don’t expect me to change any nappies,” teased Fandral.

“Ah, I have plenty of practise with those!”

Thor held them ever closer, as Fandral squeezed at his knee and Volstagg slapped a hand on his back, and Hogun simply nodded to him while Sif sent a thumb’s up in his direction, as each showed their support in their own manner. It was impossible to say why it left him so emotional, especially when he had endured much more than mild disagreements with loved ones in the past, and yet the tears refused to leaves his eyes, as he choked out:

“Thank you, my friends.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You _told_ them?”

A loud slam echoed through the bedroom, as Loki stood before the doors. He kept his head low, while a sweat broke on his flesh from the warmth of Asgard, and – for the first time – he regretted the sudden change in climes, as he clenched his fists at his sides. The bedroom was cool with all doors and balconies thrown open, allowing the breeze free entry between the _en suites_ and lounges, which provided a small comfort to Loki as his heart raced.

Thor sat naked upon cool sheets. He sat with muscled and hairy legs parted over the edge, with feet planted firmly on the expensive rugs beneath the four-poster bed, and his manhood was on clear display, only adding a deepening blush to Loki’s cheeks. It made for a beautiful sight, as the bared belly stretched with clear life deep inside, and Thor continually ran his hands over the flesh with a lotion that brought back brief memories of their childhood . . . _‘I used this medicine when I carried you, it will soothe all scars and stretch-marks’_. . .

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell and scream and spit, but Thor kept his head so low that his eyes were invisible and his hair kept his face entirely in shadows, and Loki knew – without any words – that the stress was just as unbearable for Thor to endure. Loki stripped his coat away with a sigh, before he folded it neatly and placed it on a nearby chair. He proceeded to strip away his boots and the protective layers. Thor only shrugged.

“I had to tell them eventually,” said Thor.

Loki scoffed, as he crawled onto the bed and slid behind Thor. He parted his legs to cradle his brother, while his head came to rest on a muscular and broad shoulder, and – as he buried his nose deep into thick blond hair with a murmur – he lightly slapped at Thor’s hands and waited for Thor to drop them at his side with a huff of breath. Loki smiled and laid a kiss to his neck, before scooping up some of the lotion and massaging it firmly into the skin, until Thor moaned in relief. Loki relished the sensation of firm flesh, as he explored every inch.

“Yes, but _I_ am the one that they incessantly interrogate,” spat Loki. “ _Who is the father? Was it consensual? Why keep it secret?_ I came home and was greeted at the palace gates by four frantic faces, each one begging for more answers than the next, and not _one_ believed me when I claimed to know as much as they knew. You would _never_ lie to Loki, I’m told.”

“I answered as much of there questions as I could,” mumbled Thor.

“Oh, such as how well-endowed is your mystery lover or whether a part-Jotun can self-lubricate like a full-Jotun? Yes, I am not impressed. I had every intention to give you a piece of my mind, as you apparently spent the duration of your conversation gossiping like schoolgirls, but then I saw you . . . with _my_ child . . . I think that is what hurt me, Thor. It was not that I was being used only for information, but that I could not _share_ in my excitement.”

Thor briefly tensed beneath his touches. Loki took the opportunity to pull back a few inches, as he removed his shirt and under-layers, and he was finally left half-naked and bare-footed, while he wore nothing except his leather trousers. The cool breeze throughout their rooms provided a small comfort, as it broke through the illusion and brushed against Jotun skin, and Loki hummed with a smile, as he slid back and wrapped his arms back around Thor. Thor sighed in relief and relaxed every muscle, as he whispered in a low voice:

“You are excited? What happened to terrified?”

The cold touch of Loki’s flesh comforted Thor. He threw back his head onto Loki’s shoulder, while he grabbed at cool hands and entwined their fingers with a gentle squeeze, and the pressure of his body on a Jotun chest would no doubt leave imprinted marks against his back, a product of leaning into the natural ridges. Loki focussed on his _seiðr_ , maintaining the illusion of an Asgardian prince despite his physiology, while he kissed at the exposed neck and stroked at Thor’s belly with his thumb, even with their hands locked together.

“I feel . . . conflicted,” confessed Loki.

“Why conflicted, Loki?”

“In all my life, I have never truly had something to call my own.” Loki furrowed his brow. “We shared the same birthday. My friends were your friends first. You were the future prince  . . . the _worthy_ prince . . . a part of me fears never being acknowledged, as this child shall become ‘yours’ and I shall be left out again, and I do desire to be its father . . .

“It would bring me purpose. All I ever wanted was to be loved and accepted, while I always felt I had so much love to give in turn, and I think – using Mother as an example – I could provide enough for a child and maybe make amends for Jotunheim through this new life. Still, I fear what this shall bring to an innocent babe. This heir of Asgard will be Jotun, Thor, as well as borne to an _ergi_. . . borne of _incest_. . . so many stigmas all on one soul!”

“It is not as though I chose this,” muttered Thor.

“I know, Brother.” Loki kissed at Thor’s cheek. “Do you not think what shall happen if it bears skin blue as Helblindi? Do you not wonder if it shall be shunned for our forbidden union? What if we bear it siblings far ahead? Will people assume them to be in an incestuous relationship simply as we engaged in one ourselves? And then I worry how they will treat me, as they already _loathe_ me for my actions . . . to be blamed for your condition . . .”

Loki hid his face into the crook of Thor’s neck. The breeze picked up strength, rustling the thick curtains and catching at the cool sheets, and – far outside – familiar ravens cawed and music played from a distant balcony, while the moon cast a silvery light inside. Tears pricked at Loki’s eyes, as he swallowed back the bile in his throat. He could hear the cold accusations already, as well as see their expressions of sheer disappointment, and he held ever closer to Thor as he memorised every touch and every sound and every scent.

A part of him feared imprisonment for such a crime . . . no longer would his bed be kept warm by a muscular body, but no longer would he need to sneak away by sunrise with a lingering kiss to a smiling pair of lips . . . Loki laughed with a sniff, as he pulled back enough to blink away his tears and stared off into the distance. Thor had removed all mirrors. It was not something he noticed at first, but not one reflection of them was to be seen.

Thor had also barely spoken a word . . .

Loki winced and jerked his head with a silent curse. He slid away from the bed, before kneeling before Thor and taking feet into hand, before – with a nod towards the headrest – lifting the limbs up onto the mattress and guiding Thor to lie down, as he lifted the sheets just high enough to protect his modesty with a hum of appreciation. Thor continued to say nothing, even as Loki smoothed out his hair and stroked at his cheek. He sat at the edge of the bed, while Thor continued to stare up at the ceiling, and choked out in a low voice:

“Father demanded I speak to him, too.”

“What did you say?” Thor asked.

“I simply claimed that I knew nothing, same as with your friends.” Loki breathed deep. “He demands to know the identity of the father, so much so that he is reviewing footage of who had entered your rooms and questioned the guards as to your whereabouts, but he merely criticised me for the results. He says that two brothers who are so close to practically share a room _must_ know such important details about the other. He is wilfully blind.

“I think he fears the father may be a commoner, perhaps a Jotun, or maybe they are of royal blood or married and thus matters would be complicated, but the deeper part of me – the dark and cold part that I fear to acknowledge – believes he thinks you were raped, just as your friends feared. The prejudice runs so deep that they cannot comprehend consent to such acts.”

“He will come around,” muttered Thor.

“I suppose that is a possibility,” sighed Loki. “Your friends are slow, but they are good-natured people at heart with an undying loyalty to you, but Father -? I sometimes fear we know two versions of the same person. He taught me to fear and hate the Jotun, despite being Jotun himself, and how can I believe such a man tolerant enough to accept being _ergi_?

“He wishes to know how he shall explain your pregnancy to the people. I thought he meant your Jotun blood that allowed the pregnancy, but he corrected me . . . _ergi, ergi, ergi_. . . Thor, I – I just –! If I had known that we were Jotun, I would have not given into the temptation of penetration. Trust me, even as we argued and fought and threatened one another -? I always loved you and would never have sought to permanently harm you. I do love you, Brother.”

Loki gently massaged at thick shoulders. Guilt washed over him as he thought back to the Destroyer . . . _a desire to harm and punish, the terror and shame at a mere miscalculated blow bring his lover near to death, the guilt that nearly drove him to madness as acid burned his throat and spilled from his lips_. . . Loki sighed and gently lifted Thor’s head. He slid behind Thor, where he leaned against the intricately carved headrest, and rested his feet just beneath Thor’s armpits, while Thor rested his head on Loki’s lap. Thor whispered:

“Do you consider this to be permanent harm?”

“I think that things will never be the same again,” said Loki in a neutral tone.

Thor wept. It was a rare sight, enough that Loki was caught between playful teasing and gentle reassurance, but the sight of those eyes . . . bloodshot, wet with tears, narrowed . . . it broke something inside him. It silenced him. Loki slid a little further down, while Thor slid a little further up, and two muscular arms wrapped tightly around his waist, as Thor cried against the cold and ridged skin of his abdomen. The tears soon wet the cool flesh.

Loki reached down to massage at his back, with the lotion that still lay on Thor’s half of the bed, and yet the deep-tissue massage did little to relieve him, as he continued to cry with broken and vulnerable sounds that seemed strange from one so strong. Thor trembled and held ever closer, even as saliva pooled around Loki’s belly-button and – as he lightly whispered ‘hormonal – Thor lightly slapped at his thigh with choked laughter, even as it quickly descended into tears once again. Loki stroked his oiled hands through blond hair.

“Thor,” whispered Loki. “Thor, speak to me.”

“I needed you here,” choked Thor.

“You did fine without me.” Loki smiled. “You are the worthy one. You wield Mjölnir, while commanding the respect of all men, and you confessed with courage to the Allfather, even when we agreed to wait until I was present. You – You are not one to weep . . .”

“Do you know what life has been like, Loki? I have lived with the guilt that I mistreated you, as such I missed all signs of your depression and jealousy, and it ended too late . . . it ended with you striking me with the Destroyer, nearly killing me even if that was not your intent, and it ended with you attempting to murder the Jotun race, which you nearly succeeded. I nearly watched you fall to your death, nearly losing you . . . nearly lost in grief . . .

“I cannot be strong for everyone. I cannot be strong for you as you seek to recover from your depression and make amends, while also knowing that I carry a life inside me and that I must endure the stigma from that . . . people will look at me differently, simply for having fallen in love with one that was forbidden! They do not even know the worst.”

“Thor, I shall confess that I wish for everyone to know the truth,” said Loki. “I wish to finally feel _proud_ over the child I have created with the man I love, while I am _jealous_ you get the attention as if you did this alone, but why do we not prolong telling others?”

“How long can we hide this, Loki? Why should we have to hide?”

“It is too much for you to bear,” observed Loki.

The hair beneath his touch grew greasy, enough that Thor would need to bathe before attempting to sleep, while the exposed skin was shiny and wet with all the lotion used to ease the growing stretch-marks and tight muscles, and the sheets barely hid his penis from sight, as the trail of hair ran clearly from his belly-button the expensive hemming of the silks. It always bought a tinge of fear to see Thor so broken, as it seemed he so rarely broke in anyone’s presence, and yet it was an honour to know that he trusted Loki even now.

“I know what it means to be depressed,” confided Loki. “They still make me visit the healers, who have forced me to try and see things from others perspectives, and I understand what it means to be overwhelmed, especially as I endure as you endure. Not only do I have a secret child, I must also endure the stigma of being a Jotun. They mock you for submission. They fear me for being a monster. Do you really wish to endure more on top of this?”

“Do _you_ really wish to remain my secret?”

“No, I do not. If this goes so far as the child’s birth, I will gladly storm the delivery room and hold the child high while declaring myself to the world as its sire, but for now . . . I think it will be better for us all for them to accept things little by little, otherwise details will be lost and the leap to acceptance will be far greater in comparison. A month will not hurt.”

“We are already halfway through this pregnancy, Loki. A month –”

“You can still prepare a nursery and environment, but –”

“I will do so without you, is that it?”

Loki continued to stroke at the soft locks of hair. The lounge opposite the bedroom was visible through the opened doors, revealing a small cot and a pile of books, and – with a smile – Loki recognised them from old pictures and childhood memories, so that they must have been taken from storage and placed in these rooms for future usage.  A door opposite, at the far end of the lounge, led to a training room that would need to be converted.

“I will still be its ‘uncle’,” muttered Loki.

He would be expected to help convert the room, while participating in odd chores and errands, and people would still question him and converse with him, congratulating him on his first niece or nephew, and – while not quite enough – it would still be something. Thor ceased crying at last, although a few staggered sighs escaped his lips. The warmth of his body was almost unbearable in these climes, but the sensation of his firm stomach against lithe legs was beyond perfection, as it reminded Loki of all he stood to gain. Thor mumbled out:

“Why did you not come back sooner?”

“I thought you needed space to process events,” swore Loki. “I also needed space, Thor. It is not easy for me to endure, either; I wanted to be certain I was ready to be a father, as well as how our child’s Jotun heritage will affect its upbringing, and whether . . . whether I could love a child with Jotun skin and blood like mine. I did not want to resent them.”

“You could not love a child that is a part of you?” Thor furrowed his brow. “I hoped your self-loathing a temporary state borne from the revelation of your heritage, but instead you are still hurting . . . still lost . . . I feel I must be strong for you once more.”

“I think . . . I think that we must be strong for each other.”

“And yet you are the only one who sees me so weak.”

“I do not think you weak, my love.”

Loki pressed a kiss to his fingers, before pressing his fingers to Thor’s lips. Thor laughed in response and kissed them back, bringing back memories of being made to ‘make up’ as children and both so afraid of ‘germs’ from the brother that drove to breaking point, and the compromise . . . always the same . . . to kiss a finger or shared object. It was called an ‘indirect kiss’ from Frigga, while Odin would always ruffle their hair before they would retch and cough and splutter once his back was turned. _How things change_ , thought Loki.

A knock came at the door.

It was just outside the bedroom itself, meaning someone had entered the overall suite, and – heart racing and mouth running dry – Loki held tight to Thor and kicked up the sheets to hide ever more of his body from sight, knowing him too fatigued and enlarged to move with any level of speed. The terror was more than Loki could endure, as his hands trembled and he struggled to keep Thor in place. If it were a guard, he would be flogged for his intrusion.

Frigga was the last person he expected to witness. A cold sweat broke over his flesh, like icy water slowly being poured over every inch of skin, and – as all breath left him – he choked out a small cry while holding Thor ever tighter against him. He snatched at the sheets and yanked them ever higher, until only a mop of blond hair was visible, but Thor turned just in time to see their mother . . . he panicked . . . he  threw himself on the other side of the bed, snatching at the sheets and blankets to cover himself like a nest.

“You do not need to hide from me, my sons,” said Frigga.

Tears built in Loki’s eyes. Thor appeared far more stoic in comparison, as he wiped away the tearstains from his cheeks and sat upright with hands properly placed at his sides, and it was almost impossible to know that he had wept just minutes previous. Loki drew his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, as he desperately sought to hide his body from sight, and Thor – with a loud curse – quickly tossed one half of a blanket to him, which he wrapped around his body while Frigga stepped inside the bedroom with a low gaze.

“Mother, I can explain,” said Loki. “We were merely –”

“You never could lie to me, my son.” Frigga smiled and shook her head. “You still play with your hands when nervous, just as you still try to gain trust with a name . . . _‘Good Heimdall’, ‘Lady Sif’, ‘Mother’_. . . I sometimes wonder if you think my love for you so little that I would notice your tells. I am your mother, Loki. I know when you lie.”

“You must have heard the news from Father? I – I know that he is unaware as to the father of the child, and I never intended to keep such a secret from you, but you must realise why I was so afraid to tell you of our . . . intimacies. I did not want you to hate me . . . disown me . . .”

“I do not judge you, Loki, but nor shall I tell your father.”

“I am sorry, Mother. I did not –”

“I still love you, my son.”

Frigga raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. It was the first time in their lives that Frigga entered without forewarning or permission, while she seemed dressed for bed in her finest nightdress and dressing gown, and her hair was loose about her shoulders, much as Loki had only ever seen as a child. There was no anger or disgust writ about her features, but her eyes lingered on Thor’s stomach with a soft smile and watery eyes, and Thor followed her gaze as his hands rested above the sheets with an almost imperceptible tumour. Thor asked:

“How long have you known?”

“You were always closer than the norm,” observed Frigga. “I remember the first stirrings of suspicion just after your graduation, where you grasped at the back of Loki’s neck and he teased you with some trivial insult, after which you dared him to say it again with a laugh, and he asked what you would do if he did indeed dare. You both lingered within a breath apart, smiles and giggles, and I knew then that the flirtations were inappropriate.

“I only knew for certain when Loki left a store-cupboard some months later, with bruises strewn about his neck and clothes in disarray, and – after he left with a blush and muttered excuses – I hid nearby to see who had captured the heart of my son. I saw you, Thor. I saw you leave shirtless and with scratch-marks down your back. In that instant, I knew.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Thor asked.

“Your father would not react well.” Frigga winced and frowned. “I was hurt at first, as I wondered what motivations would lead to such a forbidden act, but – after a while – I realised it was more than an act of rebellion and it fell deeper than my understanding, which taught me to look the other way lest I risk confrontation. Your father will not look the other way.

“He has accepted that you are an _ergi_ , which I think was made easier by his pre-existing belief that Loki was already _ergi_ , and – as such – he had long come to terms with his prejudices and overcame them in a desire to accept his son, but this . . . this would be a crime . . . a sin. At the moment, his greatest fear is what stigma you will endure. He is afraid that you will suffer for your love, but to know who brought this pain upon you . . .”

“Loki did not bring this pain upon me,” said Thor.

Frigga sighed and came around the bed; every item of clothing was picked up on her way, bringing a blush to both sets of cheeks, and she folded them and piled them as if they were no more than children, even humming the same old tune from their youth. A single shirt was saved, which was handed to Loki with a half-smile. He took it without complaint. It only took a few seconds for him to don the shirt and hide his upper half from sight, while Frigga sat at the edge of the bed and gently smoothed at the sheets to remove any wrinkles.

“I know that Loki is not to blame,” said Frigga. “Your father will also know that Loki is not solely responsible, but you cannot deny that he has played a crucial part in events, and you will both be held to account for your actions. You have both made this choice.”

“We did not _choose_ to fall in love,” said Loki.

“You chose to consummate, my son.”

Loki flushed a deep shade of crimson. He lowered his head, even as she reached out to touch his knee and squeeze with a maternal hold, and – eyes threatening to spill with humiliation and fear – she saw something primal and pained inside him, enough to move her to sit directly at his side and pull him against her chest. Loki closed his eyes and listened to her heart beat, while her soft chest lulled him into a sense of peace, and he spread out his legs to rest on Thor, who massaged them with a sigh and shake of his head. Frigga commented:

“You cannot hide your role as the father.”

“I am surprised you would say that,” said Loki. “A part of me feared you might advocate secrecy, as it would be easier for all involved, and there is already precedence for secrecy in our family, is there not? It would avoid any risk of confrontation.”

“I know you too well, Loki. You will not endure being kept apart from your child . . . the Allfather shall outrank you, as the grandfather shall have more say than the uncle . . . your friends will ignore your commands and seek confirmation from Thor . . . you shall be the ‘uncle’ and nothing more, forced to watch from the sidelines as your child grows. No, I could not bear to see you in such pain. I know all too well what joy parenthood brings.

“I remember as your father wept when you called him ‘Daddy’ for the first time, as well as his sadness when you called it him for the last time, and yet he feels such pride any time he hears ‘Father’, even if it merely to mediate your arguments. The love for a child is unconditional and eternal, and a blessing you deserve to experience as much as any other.”

“You claim that you both loved me and yet you both _lied_ to me!” Loki blinked back his tears. “I may have made great progress with my counselling, but I find it difficult to take advice from one that still cannot say why she took me. . . why she cared for me. . . why she -?”

“– loved you?”

Loki winced. The sensation of fingers running through his hair was a great comfort, while Thor worked at his muscles with expert skill and affection, and – not for the first time – his guilt turned into a simmering frustration, as he knew that Thor was the one that needed the attention and support . . . Thor needed him, but here he lay broken and confused. Frigga held him close, while she bent low to place a chaste kiss to his hair. A shuddered breath followed, before she whispered ‘I love you’, and she pulled back just enough to ask:

“Do you think yourself unlovable, Loki?”

The silence answered all questions. He listened to the sound of music in the distance, broken only by laughter and cheers, and Loki wondered how long it would be until celebrations were thrown in their family name, along with an official announcement. The fingers through his hair provided an indescribable sensation, enough to nearly lull him to sleep, while Thor occasionally slapped at his leg to keep him awake. Frigga chuckled and kissed him again.

“Loki has grown to accept his heritage,” said Thor. “I think that I will grow to accept mine in time, as I had no problem in accepting Loki, and how are we any different? I empathise more now with his plight. You did not just lie to Loki, but you lied to _me_ , too. I cannot blame Loki for his doubts and his concerns, as this was a betrayal of trust. You lied to us both.”

“This is why I have spoken to your father about family therapy,” replied Frigga. “He will deny me as Loki shall deny me, so I will ask instead that Loki will allow me to attend some of his sessions with the healers, so that – together – we may rebuild our previous trust.”

“Will the healers keep all things confidential?”

“It is their duty,” spat Loki. “They will not tell Father about the paternity of the child, should I feel that is something I must discuss with an outside party, but I – I cannot help other than to feel conflicted . . . I love you, Mother, but can I honestly still call you ‘Mother’? I will attend these therapy sessions with you, but I cannot promise I will learn to trust you again.”

Loki clung to her skirts. It was an instinctual hold, broken only by her hand that rested over cool flesh, and – with a long sigh – he realised just how soft and loose her skin had grown with old age, so that their time together ran to a millennium at most. He turned his hand and let their finger entwine, while he listened to how her heart maintained a slow and steady beat against his ear, and her free hand pulled back his hair to reveal his tear-stained cheeks.

“I am here for you both whenever you need me,” swore Frigga.

A few long minutes passed, until someone yelled a goodbye from the courtyard. It was difficult to know whom it was directed, especially when merged with giggles and gossip from all places, and the music came to a stop while crickets chirped in the distance. The hour was late, enough that Odin would soon search for Frigga. Loki reluctantly let go. Frigga slowly stood and let him fall prone on the bed, before pulling at the sheets and tugging them from beneath him, and tucked him in despite Thor’s teasing laughter and pokes.

Loki narrowed his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. A final poke came from Thor, as Frigga kissed his forehead and smoothed out his black locks, but this time Loki snatched at it and bent it back to breaking point, before keeping the hold and daring him to continue. He stopped as soon as Frigga slapped hard at his wrist, only for Thor to laugh again and whispered ‘ _you’re in trouble’_ , as if they were still children. Loki sighed, as Thor asked:

“When do you recommend we tell Father?”

“It must be before your final bimester,” said Frigga. “It will take some time for your father to process, as well as your friends and family, but I hold hope that they will grow to accept this relationship with time. I simply feel they need time to process the pregnancy first, while both you and Loki must come to find your place and where you belong.

“You will come to rely on the support of others, while your father and I shall wish to be grandparents to our only grandchild, and this relies on knowing what you think and feel, whether you can trust us and whether you can still see us as family unit . . .”

“You meant well,” mumbled Thor. “I know you meant well, but –”

“You need not say it, my son. I understand.”

Frigga walked around the bed, before pressing a kiss to Thor’s brow. It was Loki’s turn to poke and prod at Thor, while mock laughing and staring without a single blink, until – red in the face and scrunched mouth – Thor made to strike him with the back of his hand, only for Frigga to catch his hand and squeeze in warning with a stern gaze. They both fell silent, albeit with a few muttered complaints from Thor and genuine laughter from Loki.

“I will always love you both,” swore Frigga. “Still, I must ask you – with absolute sincerity – to reassess this relationship as it stands. You _cannot_ be both brothers and lovers, especially when there is a child involved. It will also hinder the ability of others to take seriously this union between you, as they will associate your childlike behaviour with childishness.”

“That . . . That is something we had not given thought about,” confessed Loki. “Our relationship works perfectly as things stand, but we have never had to endure the pressures of outside opinion or public displays of affection or dates. Do you think we -?”

“I think only you will know if this relationship will work or not.”

“That is hardly an answer,” muttered Loki.

“It is the only one I can give, my son.”

Frigga nodded to them both, before heading toward the door. A flick of her hand cast them into darkness, with only a chuckle from Thor as he shook his head, and – with a smile – Loki realised they would forever be children to her eyes, with a love eternal toward them. It brought him hope, as he instinctively reached out to Thor’s stomach and ran his hand over the raised and distended flesh. The child beneath was still, but he knew they lay so close.

The footsteps soon echoed away. A click of the door an a shaft of light betrayed her exit, as Thor rolled over onto his side with a smile in the darkness, and Loki could only slide closer beneath the covers as she shucked the last of his clothes. Thor sniffed loudly, until Loki wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close enough until nude forms touched. It felt good to have warmth pressed against cold, while Loki already lamented the small distance between them that stood only to get wider, even if it brought such promise. Thor whispered:

“Do you think you can forgive her, Loki?”

“I do love her,” said Loki. “I also want nothing more than to have the relationship we once held, but I feel that accepting her love would mean recognising Father as . . . well . . . our _father_. I cannot accept him at this moment in time, but that only leads to further fears. What if our child resents me for this Jotun blood? What if I become the man I hate?”

“You do not hate him, Loki. You even refer to him as ‘Father’.”

“Now you claim to tell me what I feel?”

“Do not put words in my mouth, Brother!” Thor clenched his fists. “I am not saying that you must forgive him. I am not saying you must like him. I am merely saying that he is old, Loki . . . we thought this Odinsleep would be his last, while he grows weaker every day, and do you really want for him to one day pass believing that you hate him? He loves you.”

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it,” muttered Loki.

Thor rolled over with a grunt, pulling Loki mostly over him . . . _legs entwined, arms tangled, kissed placed along collarbones . . ._ it was a small intimacy, but one that felt the world, and Loki grew tired once more as the fatigue finally caught up with him in the darkness. The time together would be limited, as Loki would sneak out come sunrise. Every breath from Thor was heavy and moist on his hair, jostling stray strands with an odd discomfort, and yet every rise of his chest lulled him into a sense of rhythm and relaxation. He closed his eyes.

“What do we do now, Thor?” Loki asked.

“I do not know,” confessed Thor.

They remained locked together. A dark sense of dread passed between them . . . Odin would not react well to the news, gossip would run amuck across the realm, and their friends would look with judgement upon them . . . to be _ergi_ or Jotun was bad enough in society, but to add the crime of incest would likely damn them. Loki tensed even within Thor’s hold, while Thor pressed chaste kisses to his head and whispered again through tears:

“I do not know.”


	6. Chapter 6

Loki wiped away the sweat.

The Jotun before him was pale and emaciated. Never before had Loki witnessed such a light blue shade on Jotun flesh, especially with ridges barely distinguishable from bone, and the skin burned with clear signs of an infection. A small loin cloth covered his privates, while snow was piled high against every limb on the leather hammock that hung from four points carved from the bones of a Frost Beast. The tent overhead provided little shade.

It was chaos on the palace grounds; everywhere the walking wounded were escorted into long lines, as they walked towards one of the two hospitals on opposite sides of the cityscape, and tents were slowly dismantled by volunteers and assigned guards. Utgard stood strong as the capital of Jotunheim, but now the return of its many civilians led to a noise unlike anything previously experienced. There were cries and cheers from the children, while men grunted and complained as possessions were moved, and everywhere was filled with a loud buzz.

A lot was accomplished in the past month. The palace would soon be returned to a place solely for Helblindi, while all services and residential areas would be split among hundreds of cities and towns and villages, and the trains would finally run for the first time to allow for commutes and visits and relocation. Loki remained seated by the Jotun named Sindri, as he allowed his hands to hover over the violent and discoloured wound across his abdomen, and – with a low sigh – _seiðr_ bled from his fingertips and deep into the wound.

Sindri groaned and scrunched his expression, until – with a low exhale of breath – every muscle relaxed and his eyes half-closed. Loki continued on the visual exercises . . . _follow the tendrils of magic, seek for any tangled webs and unravel them, ease the pain by keeping the vibration of energy low and the colour warm . . ._ Sindri appeared eased, but it did little to cease the niggling doubt and depression in Loki’s heart. It was not enough.

“You will need medicine for the infection,” said Loki.

He slowly eased away his hands. Sindri slept, as Loki raised a hand to a nearby healer. They simply shrugged and continued to walk, each one holding the box of supplies brought by Loki into their realm, and – just as he opened his mouth to complain – a healer came into the tent and offered him a small jar of ointment and another of tablets. The Jotun whispered: _‘supplies and rations are short and limited, we cannot afford more’._ Loki undid the jars, as the Jotun disappeared from sight and another familiar form chirped out:

“I thought I forbade you from the palace grounds.”

Loki said nothing, as he administered the medicines. Helblindi stood in silence, clad in heavy furs and leathers that would not be out-of-place on an Asgardian in such climes, and his black hair was braided in several places with jewels and strands of precious metals, as he quirked an eyebrow over a red-green eye that crinkled in the corner. He stood with arms folded and a smile that was betrayed by the coldness about his expression. Loki smirked back.

Tension still lingered. Loki wiped again the brow of Sindri, as he slowly stood and nodded to Helblindi, and – with long and slow steps – Loki came to stand beside Helblindi, who walked away with a slow pace to allow Loki to match his stride. The wind picked up speed with snowflakes half-blinding his vision, while healers came _en masse_ to check the vitals of the wounded unable to walk to the new grounds. The snow crunched underfoot as Loki pushed back a lock of black hair and relished in the lack of conversation.

“Býleistr chose to creatively interpret your command,” said Loki. “Your explicit order was to deny me entry _into_ the palace, but these are merely the palace grounds and – as such – I am not inside the palace itself. You will forgive me, yes? I know I swore to make amends, but heavy lifting and menial labour is so unbecoming to an Asgardian prince.”

“A Jotun prince, Loki,” said Helblindi. “ _Jotun_.”

“In any case, I thought I would make amends through healing others. I have extensively trained under Eir in this past month; I may not yet be able to use my _seiðr_ for surgery or complex manoeuvres, but I am able to administer pain relief and basic first aid. Ten Jotun men have been aided by my skills this morning alone. I consider that a success.”

“If you’ve found a passion for healing, you’ll be happy to know that we finally finished rebuilding the hospital and various smaller infirmaries and clinics. I would be happy to let you aid us in escorting some of our worst causalities toward better facilities.”

“Let us escort Sindri first.  He needs specialised treatment.”

Helblindi stopped before the palace. The doors were thrown open to reveal the hall in disarray, as makeshift beds and hammocks were disabled with grunts and groans, and servants scrubbed at the stone floors to rid the tiles of blood. It was dark inside. The darkness covered a vast amount of the mess, but it would be some days – if not weeks – before this part of the palace was closed to the public and returned to its former splendour. A few paintings were being hung in place of anatomical diagrams, as Helblindi chirped:  

“I’m surprised to see you so happy to help.”

Loki shrugged, as he thought carefully to his next words. The relationship between them had evolved well, but there was no denying that both men were politicians first and foremost, and Loki licked at his lips as he allowed a moment of silence to pass between them. Sindri cried out in fear from afar, as two men carried him on a stretcher towards the main road that ran through Utgard. Loki followed their journey with a narrowed gaze.

“I seek for a distraction,” confessed Loki.

The snow picked up speed, while clouds grew denser overhead, and Loki half-smiled as cool climes provided a soft comfort to his Jotun flesh. He flexed his fingers and cricked his neck, as he pondered allowing the illusion to drop, but Helblindi distracted him with a momentary squeeze of his shoulder, and – by the time he turned back to the palace gates – Sindri was out of sight and likely already far on his way to the new hospital. Loki scoffed and shook his head, while he pinched the bridge of his nose. Helblindi asked in a low voice:

“You wouldn’t rather be at Thor’s side?”

“Of course,” said Loki. “He is four months pregnant. It is no secret that I felt myself alone in enduring this change of identity . . . I still believe – had I fallen from the Bifrost – I may never have confronted my nature, as I could have ran from the reality and hid behind the illusion, but here I am with those that share my heritage. Thor -? Thor does not endure the change of identity, as he is primarily Asgardian in physique and nature. He is not judged.

“He does, however, endure the stigma of being _argy_. It has somewhat overshadowed my heritage, especially as the Allfather has slowly revealed the missing segments of our history, and – as murals slowly are reverted to original forms – people have grown more used to having the Jotun a part of our culture. In fact, many still remember when our people mingled.

“I struggle with this situation. I am by his side as much as I am able, but I can do nothing to cease the gossip and rumours that have overwhelmed our people, and each day I see Thor grow more and more frustrated by his new position and perceived status. In the meantime, I feel _lost_. I cannot help him, but I can help myself by these visits to Jotunheim. The people here and home see me as Jotun, but I still see myself as Asgardian, and so –”

“You believe you don’t belong to either Jotunheim or Asgard.”

Loki winced. Two guards in the hall sighed in relief, as the heavy painting was finally hung directly opposite the main doors, and – with a purse of his lips – Loki could only clench his hands to see paint so old and cracked that he could not hazard a guess at the age of the artwork, but he could see clearly its content. It was an army of Jotun and Asgardian men all merged together, as they fought as one unit against the Svartálfar. There were two kings that led the battle as equals . . . one Jotun, one Asgardian. Helblindi slapped at his upper back.

“Follow me inside, Loki,” said Helblindi.

“Now you will allow me entry?”

“I don’t trust you, Brother,” said Helblindi. “Do not mistake my love for trust. I simply require a private conversation with you, which is pretty impractical in these courtyards, and – well – you could _hardly_ blame a brother for not wanting to discuss family secrets where the world can hear, right? You know well where secrets can lead.”

Loki jerked away, as he curled his lip with a scoff. He tensed his hands into closed fists, as his heart raced until the low thud could be heard, and – letting out a low hiss of breath – he tried to remind himself that Helblindi was correct: secrets had led to destruction. Loki regained self-control, while Helblindi spun around and marched inside with a tune hummed low under his breath, and he stopped and spun around again once a few feet inside, where he bowed low and offered forth his hand with a wink and a smile. Loki rolled his eyes.

He walked inside, where he slapped away the hand with a loud huff, but Helblindi simply laughed in response and jumped back with a childlike demeanour, before practically running towards the left staircase and letting Loki slowly follow with muttered complaints. A few guards smiled and shook their heads, while one politician curled his lip and whispered on passing that Býleistr should have been made king in Laufey’s place. Loki said nothing.

A part of him sought to memorise the face, but Helblindi turned his head just enough to reveal a dark and devilish smile, and Loki knew – without any doubt – this was a man that knew all too well what others said and thought about him. They continued to walk until they came to a small side-room. The guards on either side of the doors allowed them entry, where a small study came into sight, and every shelf and table and windowsill was littered with books and parchment. Loki winced as the doors slammed shut behind them, as he asked:

“What is it you wanted to discuss with me?”

Helblindi practically danced towards a leather armchair.  He dropped into its fold with another hummer tune, before – as the music died on his lips – his face fell sour and his hand rose with a flick of visible _seiðr_. The blue drained from his flesh, slowly as the illusion shattered and drifted from sight. No ridges on his skin. No red on the whites of his eyes. He simply sat identical to before, but now fully Jotun in form. Loki spat out:

“You are an Asgardian?”

Loki stumbled closer, as his eyes widened and lips fell parted. He reached out, hand hovering in the air in anticipation of an inevitable touch, and – when finally close enough for fingers to brush against a cheek – he yanked back his hand with a hiss. _The skin was warm!_ It was rough with exposure to the elements, but ultimately it was far softer than the leather-like sensation of Jotun flesh, and the warmth was identical to Thor or Frigga. Loki held his hand close to his chest, as Helblindi sprawled out and shrugged with a passive expression.

“No, I am Jotun,” said Helblindi.

“Your form is clearly –”

“You still identify as Asgardian, do you not?” Helblindi sat upright. “I show you this only to make you realise that you are not alone. Fárbauti was half-Asgardian, which means that I have Asgardian blood, and yet . . . this is the realm that raised me, nurtured me, and disciplined me . . . I am Jotun. I wear this form only as I prefer it in terms of aestheticism, but I fear you wear yours in hope you will better belong. Do you better belong, Loki?

“You are still the same man. You have the same blood and the same mind, and so why would those you love see you with any more or less respect? If they were to judge you for your skin alone, would you care so greatly about their opinions? This fear that you feel is the same as what Thor endures, Loki, only no illusion can hide his pregnancy.”

“A part of me has thought to drop this illusion,” whispered Loki. “I have thought that Thor might appreciate such a gesture, especially as it may distract idle tongues from gossiping about the unborn child, but that would mean accepting my Jotun heritage . . .”

“What do you stand to gain from denying your heritage?”

“If I accept you as my brother, it would mean denying Odin as my father.” Loki winced. “I still have not come any closer to understanding his motives in these past four months, but I do know that he raised me and loved me . . . can I bring myself to disown the only father I have known? I am conflicted. I hate what he _did_ , but I do not hate _him_ . . . Brother.”

The word was heavy and awkward to his tongue. It was spat out with more bitterness than he would have wished, while his heart raced in fear that Thor would grow jealous with such a term being gifted to another, and yet Helblindi already bore tears in his now green eyes, which sparkled each time his mouth pulled into a sincere smile. Helblindi clasped his hands together, while they shook midair, before he rose and sauntered over to Loki. He dropped his hand onto Loki’s shoulders, before his expression changed again and he whispered:

“What would have happened had you fallen, Loki?”

Loki rapidly blinked. He ran his eyes over the man before him, before he settled on a face with a smile somewhere between ‘condemnation’ and ‘acceptance’, and – with a purse of his lips – he stepped back and allowed those hands to fall gracefully from his form. It was rare to meet one so difficult to read as he proved to others, and it was enough to wring a smile as he realised why perhaps Sif so often grew frustrated by his words and mannerisms.

“I would not have survived the abyss,” said Loki.

“Do not treat me like a fool, Brother,” teased Helblindi. “You have _seiðr_ matched only by myself and your adoptive mother, with more knowledge of hidden passageways than even our most ancient and forbidden texts, and so I find it difficult to believe that you would have fallen to your death, especially when you always think several steps ahead.”

“Truthfully?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I only thought in that moment about an end to the pain. I looked into the eyes of a father that lied to me, hid from me the horror of my heritage, allowed me to commit atrocities that were ultimately for _nothing,_ and . . . I wanted out.”

“You say ‘allowed’. You still do not take full responsibility?”

“I do and I do not,” confessed Loki. “It horrifies me that I may have ignored the plight of your people, but I still struggle to see them as _our_ people. I know that my actions were my responsibility alone, but does that then not absolve Odin of his lies and his rewriting of history? I do not know who I am in _this_ world, but I only know I do not belong in _that_ world either. A part of me sometimes wishes I had fallen . . . I would rather have fled.”

“You are many things, Loki, but you are not a coward.”

“I know what I am not, but not what I am.”

Loki furrowed his brow, as he took a seat on the edge of a table. The papers were written in the Jotun tongue, hiding from him the truth of their content, and he could only decipher a few words from his month spent in repentance in such lands . . . _‘son’, ‘inheritance’, ‘blood’, ‘marriage’, ‘heir’_. . . branches spread out like a family tree, where on one line he saw his name written in familiar Asgardian runes. He traced a finger over ‘Loki’.

Helblindi stood beside the table. He slid a paper written entirely in Asgardian print, seemingly a copy of the original family tree that Loki perused, and Loki – with a soft smile – noticed the various ways that the two royal families intermingled throughout the millennia, even as recent as Bor and Bestla. A finger traced the line to Helblindi, Býleistr and Loki. He noted that the lines were tangled at a point, constantly erased and rewritten, until Hilmar appeared beneath Býleistr. Steinn and Fannar were clearer at the side.

Loki said nothing, although he noted no father was listed for Hilmar, and the paper was worn in that spot as if touched a thousand times over, while a few stains of liquid caused the letters to bleed and merge where they were inked. It was a sobering sight. Loki pulled back his hand and turned his back to the family trees, while Helblindi busied himself by sorting through pieces of parchment and organising piles of books. Loki asked in a whisper:

“What is it like to lose a child?”

A cold silence descended between them. Helblindi pushed away from the table with a trembling hand, before – with a hiss of breath – he crossed the study to a set of windows that overlooked the palace gardens, and he pressed his fingers to the cold pane. The pane reflected a hint of a frown, while snow piled against the glass until flakes fell from the highest points, and Loki slowly followed with head low and eyes half-closed. Helblindi asked:

“Why do you ask that, Loki?”

The wind howled from outside, until nothing could be seen except snow. It provided a beautiful sight, as the patterns danced about the air and moved with a unique momentum, and Helblindi – slowly closing his eyes – grew lost until his pale skin grew ever whiter, as Loki sought for the words to break the pervading silence. Helblindi reached out with a shaking finger to the glass; slow movements carved a path through the condensation, as if writing a name, only for the side of his palm to wipe it from existence. Loki found his breath again.

“Býleistr lost his son in my attack,” whispered Loki. “I have seen the shrine to Hilmar, where every day a fresh flower is laid at the image of our nephew, and he talks about Hilmar as if he were still a part of the family unit. It sounds a pain unbearable to comprehend.”

“It is a pain you will hopefully never endure,” said Helblindi.

“Humour me, Helblindi. What is it like to experience?”

“Do you know Agnar is pregnant again? He plans to name the next child ‘Fannar’. They have yet to tell Steinn, as they fear he may grow too attached and it is not yet quite the second bimester, and there is fear . . . conflict . . . Býleistr believes that is wrong to have another child, as if they may be seen as a replacement, and yet he loves them with all his heart.”

“You avoid answering the question,” said Loki.

“What do you want to hear, Loki?” Helblindi asked. “Hilmar was my nephew, but he was also a son to me . . . I have lived a celibate life in service of my realm, never quite able to find one that I could trust or that understood the nature of political masks, and I saw in Hilmar a potential heir and one that I could educate and raise and shower with affection. A part of me died when he left our lives. I still sometimes wake in tears when he visits my dreams.

“I have seen how you interact with Thor . . . I have heard what questions you ask, I have listened to the undercurrents of information . . . if you ask me in hopes that I shall tell you that you will be fine as merely an ‘uncle’ to a child you cannot raise -?” Helblindi shook his head. “Trust me, that is a pain nearly as painful as a permanent loss.”

Helblindi walked back toward the table. He wore his usual smile, as he continued to organise the books with a hummed tune reminiscent of a childhood lullaby, and yet there was something stagnant and cold about his expression, as his eyes struggled to hide the depths of emotion that his façade failed. A small pile of peace-treaties emerged from underneath the heaviest of books, which were written in two long columns of Jotun and Asgardian, and Helblindi jumped a little on his feet with a smile on sight, as he cast his gaze to Loki.

“Odin Allfather has agreed to visit our realm,” said Helblindi.

“You mention this to me, why?”

Loki remained at the window, even as Helblindi strove to tidy the study. Every relevant political item was piled strategically on the table, while irrelevant books were consigned to the shelves with a heavy reverence, and it was soon apparent that this was to be the meeting room between two kings in an attempt for peace. Loki strode towards Helblindi and took a seat at the head of the table, where the chair was made from wood and leather, and clearly either imported or held in storage from the days of old. Loki smile and leaned back.

“Thor will likely return here with him,” said Helblindi. “You divided your time this past month between Jotunheim and Thor. It’s understandable that you fear how people will react to such an incestuous union, as well as whether you’ll be able to raise your child, but do not allow this to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. There is nothing worse in this world than to see one you love pushed into the arms of another, simply as you believed yourself unworthy.”

“I have done everything in my power to help Thor during this time,” swore Loki. “If he wishes to come to Jotunheim, I shall continue my sworn duty to remain at his side and help him in whatever way that is possible, but that is not enough to –”

“It is enough, Loki. It is enough.”

Loki flushed a dark shade of red; arms crossed his chest, as legs crossed at the ankles, and he leaned back in the chair much in the way his governesses would criticise as a child, while he played Helblindi’s words over and over in his mind, and fixed his gaze on the family tree that remained in place on the table. The only sounds were those of shuffling papers and wind upon the windowpanes, broken only by the occasional snippets of song, and – as Loki dropped his chair onto all four legs – he stared aimlessly ahead with nostrils flared.

“Be with the one you love,” said Helblindi.

“And you will talk to the Allfather?”

“I will mention nothing of this forbidden union.” Helblindi nodded. “I simply wish to broker a trade deal and a revised peace treaty, as well as discuss the matter of your kidnapping so many years ago from our sacred temple. Odin must one day be told, as your heir is also a potential heir of Jotunheim, but . . . it's not my secret to tell. I'll keep quiet.”

“Is that was this is about, Helblindi? Steinn and Fannar are not enough, but you seek a third option in case your womb remains empty to offspring? Well, this is well and good, but it assumes that Thor would wish to admit to my part . . . that he would not change his mind . . .”

“Go,” said Helblindi. “Go to Thor.”

Helblindi smiled, even with arms laden with books and parchment. He pointed to the door with a gentle shake of his head, while a laugh remained half-stifled on his lips, and – for a brief second – Loki smiled in turn as he sat reminded of such brotherly ‘commands’ during his youth with Thor . . . _‘just go ask her’, ‘remember not to go that way’, ‘you can go now’_. . . Loki stood and drew in a deep breath. A glance to the family tree revealed a line directly from Thor to ‘unborn’, but no lines yet to Loki in any form. Helblindi whispered:

“Don't repeat my mistakes.”

The words lingered with a striking depth. Loki winced as he stood, before heading toward the doors with back slightly hunched and hand running through his hair, and – as he paused with a long sigh – he cast a final glance to Helblindi with a burning curiosity, but already Helblindi turned his back on him and continued with his infernal tunes. The handle was cool and smooth to the touch beneath Loki’s hand, as he stood still with racing heart.

Helblindi was right that to believe in defeat was to accept defeat, while Thor gave no indication of giving up the fight in the past month, and yet the fear was still deeply ingrained as he lifted an Asgardian hand and felt the cold Jotun skin beneath the illusion. There was no question that the hatred and doubt ran deep, but also no question that Thor never once showed anything but love and affection for Loki . . . he was still ‘Brother’,  he was still kissed and embraced, he was still _loved_. . . Loki drew in his courage and left the study.

Thor needed him, just as he needed Thor.


	7. Chapter 7

Thor was fatigued.

The muscles on his body were far smaller than recent months, although they were still toned and pronounced enough that Loki could count each and every one, and it brought back memories of their youth, as Thor transitioned between ‘athletic’ into ‘muscular’. The large swell of his stomach was larger than expected, enough that it could no longer be hid with layers and furs, and no longer could armour so rigid and fixed be worn over the bulge.

It was unusual to see him clad only in soft fabrics. The red of his shirt complemented well his colouring and complexion, while his long leather cape clung to him in the right places, and the harsh winds caught at his hair as it whipped about his face, but he continued to stare at his hands held tightly on his lap. He sat on the stone bench with the raised vegetable patches behind him, protected by brick and ice, and the stretch of garden before him a mere expanse of snow on bare ground. The lights from the secondary palace illuminated the white gardens.

The palace was small, enough that it could barely pass as a ‘house’, but it sat so far removed on the outskirts of Utgard – located hidden between two mountains – that it allowed for a greater sense of privacy, as Steinn sat surrounded by piles of snow not far from Thor. He struggled to use his _seiðr_ to change the shape of the snow, as he sought to master his natural magic, and he remained lost in thought as Thor watched him with an absent smile, sometimes tossing a snowball that would explode midair with a cocky laugh and a wink from Steinn.

Býleistr watched them from the windows, while guards stood all about the garden in subtle locations, and Loki walked towards Thor with a rhythmic crunch of snow underfoot, as he made his way to the bench and sat beside Thor. The warmth from an Asgardian body stood out all the more in the cold climes, enough that Loki edged ever closer until thighs touched, and he said nothing as he stared at the expanded skin, until he choked out:

“May I touch your stomach?”

Býleistr waved from the window. Loki waved back. It was still strange to be observed by a relative that still sought to interact . . . too often, Odin and Frigga would watch without any words or gestures . . . no interventions, no greetings, but simply watching . . . the passing interest always seemed enough, but now Loki wanted more from his relatives. Thor broke his train of thought by angling his body toward Loki, as he smiled bright and strong, and gripped at his shoulder with a gentle – yet firm – hold. Thor replied in a warm voice:

“You are the only person who needs not ask, Brother.”

The sentence was barely finished, as Loki took advantage of the permission. He slid his fingers slowly beneath the cape, before pressing his palm to the firm and solid flesh hidden beneath several layers of fabric, and – with a sigh – bemoaned the fact that he could not gain skin-to-skin contact without putting Thor in direct exposure to the cold weather. Loki sought to find a place where he could feel a kick . . . a footprint, a handprint . . . Thor laughed while Loki massaged at the firm flesh. Loki smiled and whispered:

“Steinn will play with you should you ask him.”

“I am in no mood for games,” said Thor.

“I am sure he would appreciate your participation.” Loki waved to Steinn with his free hand. “You left a lasting impression on your sole visit. Your blond hair fascinated him in particular, as well as how your eyes can be so blue, and he was impressed by how quickly you adapted to Jotun culture, apologising with modesty when you committed any error.”

“It was something I learned on Earth. I failed to notice – until then – how others allowed us to do whatever we wished, simply because we were princes. It was the first time I was confronted for causing inadvertent offence. I have tried to bear this in mind since.”

“I admire your willingness to adapt. I struggled with my first few visits, especially as family is a central pillar of one’s life in this culture and every family plays a part in the community, and Steinn still laughs when I flinch to be touched or embraced or kissed. It strikes me that these people are a part of your heritage in turn . . . you should spend time with us.”

“Ah, now you wish for me to spend time with you?” Thor smiled and shook his head. “I would very much like to spend a few weeks in these lands with you, Loki, but I wonder why you did not ask me sooner and instead split your time between these two realms.”

Loki flinched and pulled back his hand. He held it before him, allowing his fingers to run over the ridges on cold skin, and turned his palm to observe the whiteness of the illusion, even as hard and callused skin grew all too warm on his leather outfit. Thor wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, as a low hiss of breath escaped his nostrils. It provided a brief comfort. The stone beneath stuck awkwardly to the leather of his coat, while ice dripped loudly onto the snow below from where Thor sat beside him.

“I have struggled with my Jotun heritage,” confessed Loki.

A comfortable silence passed between them. Agnar leaned out of a window to yell at Steinn for some mess left inside, while Býleistr leaned out the other to take the blame, and Thor struggled to hold back his laughter to watch Steinn looking from window to window, as if he were watching a ping-pong match between two experienced players. Agnar soon slammed shut the window with a loud curse, only to reappear in the other window to hold an inaudible argument with his partner. Loki cuddled up to Thor ever closer, as Thor laughed.

It was easy to forget that they were no longer in Asgard, as the Jotuns behaved with such humanity that their experiences often seemed universal to Loki, who recalled the same marital arguments and childish tantrums and stolen embraces, and he rested his head against the muscles of Thor’s chest and half-closed his eyes in response. Thor ran his fingers through Loki’s hair, as he pressed a chaste kiss to his head and asked in a whisper:

“Do you remember what Mother said?”

“I am sure you will tell me anyway,” teased Loki.

“Mother warned us that our relationship may fail should we be both brothers and lovers,” said Thor with a smile. “I first thought she meant solely in relation to the perception of others, but I think she may have meant our private life in turn. We change that with total and open communication. We acted out too much as brothers . . . teasing, provoking, bickering . . .”

“I have spoken to the healers about the lack of communication in the family. I think I feared too much to speak out lest I be silenced, while we must admit Father often exiled or punished us for any misspoken words, and we both were often so disrespectful . . .”

“And shall we carry on these bad habits with our son?”

Loki pulled back with open mouth. A glance to Steinn revealed him still lost in his studies, as he manipulated the snow with basic gestures and furrowed brow, and – so long as they spoke only in whispers – nothing appeared overheard by young ears over in the garden. The beat in his chest gained speed, as his mouth ran dry and his eyes watered. Loki lifted his head and pulled back, as he locked eyes with a blushing Thor, and asked:

“We have a son?”

Thor nodded. Loki broke out into laughter, as he dropped onto the ground before Thor, and pressed both hands beneath the cape to explore the extended flesh, as his fingers roamed and he envisioned the child already so close to the final bimester. Thor smiled and took Loki’s hands, as he slowly slid them further south to an almost indecent point. Loki nearly jerked back his hand, glancing back to the windows with a curled lip and deep blush, until – with a sudden bump against his palm – he felt movement. Tears welled. Loki laughed.

“Agnar told me it is probable,” said Thor. “The Jotun race consists solely of men, as such – with almost exclusively Jotun blood – our child will likely be male, and I do not want our son to believe that his emotions should be locked away and kept hidden. I want open communication. I want a healthy relationship like between Mother and Father, but still you hide from me when I am struggling to deal with these issues, and I –”

“You just said it, Thor.” Loki winced. “You are struggling with being an _ergi_! How can I burden you with my worries about being Jotun? How can I tell you that I am _terrified_ I may never be revealed as the father of our child, while you struggle to be so strong?”

“As brothers it was our duty to protect one another, but as lovers it is our duty to support one another. We cannot fight each other’s battles, while we cannot fix every problem, but we _can_ be there for one another and share in all dilemmas . . . we can ease each other’s pain, share in the weight of burdens, and we can eliminate some of the stress. Talk to me, Loki.”

Loki screwed shut his eyes. The light pressure upon his palm struck again, like feeling a pulse on a larger scale, and he continued to hold his hand tight against the flesh, as he fought an urge to kiss at the stomach and whisper to the child inside. The cold from the snow against his knees was comfortable and eased some of his tension, even as his heart raced loud enough that every beat could be heard above all other sounds, and he bit awkwardly into his lip as he lifted his head to see blue eyes with a film of water. Thor was concerned . . . afraid.

“I am a Jotun,” whispered Loki.

“I notice every time our lips touch and our hands entwine.”

A hand came down and entwined with his hand. Loki laughed with a soft smile, as – together – they felt the baby kick and punch. It already took so much after Thor, as if being in an enclosed space for so long were beyond torture for an energetic soul, and sometimes it would kick in another place so that Thor would wince and press a hand to the opposite end of his distended stomach with a shake of his head. It took all Thor’s strength to mumble out:

“You said you fear you will not be father to our child?”

“I see how much you suffer,” whispered Loki. “How can I expect you to then bear the stigma of an incestuous union on top of being _ergi_? We are brothers. Will we be exiled? Will we be cast into the dungeons? I know Father loves me, even in spite of my Jotun blood, but what if he blames me more as he sees this blood as a corrupting force? What if I am blamed and you are allowed to walk free? How can we raise this child in two separate realms?

“I also see these people and I _feel_ for them. Does that make me disloyal? I called Helblindi ‘Brother’, but it felt like a betrayal on my lips . . . like I personally insulted you . . . I hated myself for sharing a brotherhood with someone other than my brother. What of Father? If I accept my Jotun heritage, can I align myself with the sperm donor that rejected me at birth?”

“You would not be abandoning us by accepting them,” swore Thor. “It is merely expanding your family and widening your circle of relatives. I would not be jealous if you called another ‘Brother’, and Father would not be less of a father simply because you were adopted.”

“It is strange, is it not?” Loki laughed through tears. “I once hated these people; if I had fallen that night, I may never have given them a second thought. I cannot envision a life without them now that I have spent so much time with them, and they have given me an unconditional love that I still cannot trust or believe, as if they have hidden motives.

“I know – _I know_ – that they truly love me, but still I think back to how our parents played favourites or how your friends struggled to trust me, and I know I played a part with my pranks and my distance, but at the same time . . . I want our child to have this life. I want them to play with Fannar, both born so close together, and I want them to eat Býleistr’s terrible food and listen to Helblindi’s tangents and I want . . . a family.”

Thor squeezed at Loki’s hand, before he brought it to his lips. A chaste kiss was pressed to his knuckles, while Thor massaged at the sides of his palm, and a quick glance was cast to Steinn, as he made sure that the gesture was not witnessed or misinterpreted. Loki remained on his knees. The kicks were less visible beneath the layers of fabric, without a hand to feel every bump and kick, but Thor would wince and lean to his left with each low kick, only to lean to his right with each high. Loki smiled, even as Thor asked in a pained whisper:

“Do you not feel you have a family with us?”

“I feel it is a different kind of family,” said Loki. “I want _our_ family in my life just as much, as Asgard is the realm that raised me and nurtured me and loved me, and I am only who I am today because of their presence and input. I feel . . . I feel I am both Jotun and Asgardian, as opposed to neither, and I want Father and Mother to always be present.”

“I also want no lies with our son. I also recognise that they are both Jotun and Asgardian, and I have seen what lies have wrought upon both of us, just as I have seen what a benefit the presence of Jotunheim has provided. I want our son to be raised in both realms.”

“With both families?”

“If you would allow that, Loki.”

Thor pressed a kiss again to rough knuckles. A loud giggle echoed out from across the garden, enough that Loki jerked his hand away with a blush, and stood to sit beside Thor at some short distance to maintain the illusion of a platonic bond. He glared toward Steinn, but the boy simply glared back until lips trembled and Stein burst into laughter. It was difficult to stay angry at him, especially when he strove to copy Loki’s expressions and body language, and – as he was called back inside by Agnar – Loki relented and waved with a smile.

They sat together in silence, as Steinn ran toward the main doors. He was swept up into the arms of Býleistr, before being smothered with kisses, and soon carried inside where they disappeared from view, leaving Thor and Loki behind in the windy garden. Loki lifted his hand and flexed his fingers, while letting the wind blow snow through the gaps, until he nearly strove to ‘catch the flakes’ as Steinn so often attempted. Loki asked:

“Did you know Helblindi wears an illusion, too?”

“Ah, I suspected as much,” said Thor. “The hand I shook was warm. The furs he wears are thick. I did not dare to ask such a question, in case it was a secret to keep his position, but it appears to be common knowledge among the Jotuns. I was surprised.”

“I wonder whether I should drop this illusion, Thor.”

“That would be your choice, Loki. Only you can make it.”

Loki slid closer to Thor. He licked at his lips and rapidly blinked, before he opened his mouth only to quickly close it once more, and his heart raced ever quicker in his chest, as he leaned into Thor with lips hovering a few inches from his ear, and Thor half-turned much as he did when he sought for words of confidence. They lingered close enough that they shared breath, until Thor grasped the back of his neck and pulled him close. Loki let out a staggered sigh.

The warmth of Thor’s forehead pressed against him, enough that their hair fell and curtained them in a world exclusively theirs, and Loki relished in the shared moment, as his hands ran over the extended stomach and fingers pressed against every kick. He leaned close brushed their lips together, while their noses rubbed awkwardly enough to bring laughter from both, until – as a door creaked from afar – Thor pulled back with a lingering touch, and they parted with eyes downcast and blushes dark on cheeks. Loki asked in a whisper:

“How do you feel, Thor?”

Thor laughed, but tears threatened to spill. It brought a stab of pain to Loki’s chest, as he took a hold of the hand between them and squeezed tight, and – once again – it became apparent how much Thor strove to be strong for the both of them. He waited for Thor to be the one to break the silence, knowing that any pressure or provocation would lead to a ‘flee’ or ‘fight’ instinct, and simply contented himself with stroking the back of a pale palm, while Thor pursed his lips and blinked his eyes. A long few minutes passed, until he finally spoke.

“I struggle,” confessed Thor. “I was once a warrior to put all others to shame, but now I am unable to so much as help in construction of the Bifrost or the training of our soldiers. I have lost a great deal of muscle mass, as I must control my exercise and activities, and I feel as if I am no longer a part of the ‘in’ group, as I cannot even socialise as I once did.”

“Fandral has invited you to all events, has he not?”

“Have you ever been the only sober person in a tavern? Have you ever watched from the sidelines a sparring competition? Hogun and Volstagg have recently changed their activities, both knowledgeable of the limitations of pregnancy, but they are not ones for picnics or hikes or concert halls . . . I feel I am inconveniencing them with my presence.

“Yes, I know this is illogical. I know they want me present, as well as that these are not ‘sacrifices’ so much as allowances, but I meanwhile hear what the servants say when they think I cannot hear, as well as what they say when they _know_ I can hear. I have since given up complaining to Father, as well as to you, else there would not be a single back not bloodied from the whips of the guards. They gossip. They taunt. They have lost respect.”

“You are still the same person, Thor. They must respect –”

“No, _you_ are the same person,” said Thor. “They respect you as being Jotun is beyond your control, while those of Father’s age are teaching an end to this segregation, as they remember too well a time when families were not split apart and both realms intermingled. I am the one that _chose_ to spread his legs and allow a male between them. They see that choice as a reflection of my character, which is more than I can stand and too much to endure.”

The wind picked up speed. It rustled at Thor’s hair, as clouds darkened above and the stars vanished from sight, and a rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, as Loki held ever tighter to the hand between them and sat straight to maintain the image of self-control. It was difficult to hide the flare to his nostrils and narrowing of his eyes, especially as every potential word from the servants played on his mind, and every micro-expression that Thor bore appeared exaggerated, as Loki analysed every wince and blink and sigh.

“What can I do?” Loki asked.

“Nothing,” whispered Thor. “Even if we could go back in time, I would not take away the child you are so excited to raise and love and hold. I also look forward to being honest with friends and family for the first time . . . we cannot hide this union forever.”

“Mother suggested various exercises safe for the child.” Loki furrowed his brow. “You could still arm-wrestle and strategise and engage in acts of co-ordination, which means competition is entirely possible with some widening of parameters, such as with chess or darts or swimming . . . you did adore swimming when we were children, even if I could not so much ‘swim’ as ‘sink’. I will make sure you do not continue to feel a burden.

“In terms of what others think, I would be happy to confess to being _ergi_. Sadly, I think it would only serve to cause _both_ of us to endure the stigma, as opposed to providing you with some relief from idle tongues, but I will do my research and release information that may aid in public perceptions. Bestla was _argr_ , but a warrior of absolute legend.”

“Loki, did you ever believe this would be our future?”

“You mean pregnant and depressed? No.”

“I mean an _ergi_ and a Jotun sitting together in the snow.”

The snow drifted about their feet in blustery winds, until it caught at the leather of their boots and started to pile high, and every breath from Thor’s lips grew into a visible cloud, as his cheeks tinged a bright shade of red in the cold. Loki stood and pulled at Thor’s hand, until – with great reluctance – Thor climbed to his feet and wrapped his arms around his abdomen, while casting his eyes to the secondary palace granted to Býleistr. Loki took a step towards the front doors, while gesturing for Thor to follow. Thor smiled and shrugged.

“It does seem like the build-up to a joke,” teased Loki.

“I think I wish to do more on Asgard,” said Thor. “I wish to combat these stigmas and this discrimination, much as how Sif proved all women equal to men, and I will take inspiration from my friend and prove that I am equal to all other men. I will do more.”

“Do you mind if I continue to spend some time on Jotunheim?” Loki squeezed at Thor’s hand. “I will spend the majority of my time with you, but I still must make amends here among the people that I have so wronged, and I also must learn more about my people, so that I do not grow to make the mistakes of Father or Laufey. I wish to _be_ more.”

“You are already so much more,” whispered Thor.

“It is not yet enough. Not for me.”

Loki cast his head low, as he walked towards the main doors. The glass on the windows was something of a novelty, as so many archways and windows in Asgard were left open, and the warm and constant climate made the airflow something of a blessing, but here they provided another barrier to the outside world and a means to safely see the climate beyond. They stopped in the doorway, still hand-in-hand, while Steinn peeked out from a side-window and giggled again with points of his hand, before someone dragged him far away.

“Father has come to speak with Helblindi,” said Thor. “He wishes to implement a new peace treaty and formulate a new trade deal with the people, and I believe he seeks to make amends for your actions so that Asgard cannot continue to be held accountable. There is also the issue of your kidnapping . . .  or adoption depending on who is asked about that event.

“Loki, I want to spend some time with you here. I also want to tell the truth about our union, and so . . . when we return to Asgard . . . I want to tell Father everything, as well as our friends, and I want to end this secrecy once and for all. I want to come forward.”

“I will be by your side, Thor, but we must prepare for the worst.”

“Is this secrecy already not the absolute worst?”

Loki shook his head with a sad smile. They remained together in the doorway, unable to enter as a couple and unable to leave as a couple, and the stolen moment together – hands held in a way that could still _perhaps_ be interpreted as platonic – was all that could be experienced between them until one stole away in the night to the other’s bedroom. Loki knew the people would not accept two brothers as lovers, so an admission would solve little on its own, but still he longed to be open . . . to hold hands in public, to kiss in public . . . Loki whispered:

“So we are to tell Father when we return?”

“We are to tell Father,” swore Thor.


	8. Chapter 8

“You look just like him . . .”

Odin slid into a stone chair; Helblindi sat at the far end of the table, with long hair plaited over his shoulder, and a smirk that brought lines to the corners of his green eyes, while he tilted his head and clasped his hands across his abdomen. The furs were taken from common animals from local wildlife, a far cry from the imported furs that clad Odin’s frame, but the condition was so perfect that it was as if they were brushed daily by expert hands.

The papers between them sat awkwardly on the table. A family tree revealed two living heirs belonging to Býleistr and the currently unnamed heir of Thor, while vast contracts and treaties of previous millennia lay piled high at the edge of the wood, and a small selection of personal correspondence lay within reach of his hand. Odin pulled them towards him, even as the tremor to his finger made the action difficult. Letters from Laufey _._ The words were all similar . . . _‘Loki’, ‘dead’, ‘stolen’ . . . ‘whereabouts unknown’_. . . a clear attempt to guilt.

Helblindi waved a hand, as two guards came forward with water. Old traditions had not died; guards doubled as servants, so that the two words were often interchangeable, and to an untrained eye it would be easy to mistake them as two separate roles, but the armour on joints betrayed the primary purpose of each man. The water was clear, although with a sharper and indecipherable taste. It proved far more soothing than anything on Asgard.

“Loki _is_ my brother,” said Helblindi.

“By blood alone,” added Odin.

Odin sipped at the water, before placing the mug onto the correspondence. The condensation rolled down the side onto the paper, where it bled onto the ink of rough paper, and soon the word ‘son’ was smeared and almost lost to the water. Helblindi only raised an eyebrow. The smile remained on his lips, even as his eyes narrowed and grew somewhat darker, but otherwise nothing gave away his disapproval of the intended action. Helblindi hummed and leaned forward with hands tented before him, as he said in a low voice:

“Loki has chosen to recognise me as his sibling.”

“Alongside his true family,” said Odin.

“We _are_ his true family.” The smile faded. “Don’t forget that you stole Loki from his home, Odin. I was old enough to remember the heartbreak . . . our mother lost in childbirth, our brother our last hope . . . Laufey was a changed man after those events. He once laughed and teased and joked, but I can’t remember so much as a smile in the last millennium.”

“He was not the only one to endure a loss. Do you forget that it was my brother who died in childbirth? I fought that war in hopes we might yet be reunited, only to be confronted with the harsh truth that I would never see him again. I never was able to say goodbye.”

“He always regretted that, too. He said he was taken during the night.”

Odin rested his fists on the table. The pressure of his nails into his palms caused a few specks of blood, as crescent-shaped cuts appeared on pale flesh, and his heart sped as his breaths grew quicker and shallower. It was difficult to forgot memories of that day . . . the day that he learnt both father and brother were gone . . . tears that blurred his vision, cold sweats that broke over blue flesh . . . _‘do not dwell on those that do not dwell on you’ . . . ‘you are Asgardian now, as such you must look Asgardian’_. . . blue skin turned white.

A burst of breath appeared from his mouth in a small cloud. The reminders of his Asgardian heritage would linger, even with the _seiðr_ tingling every inch of skin as he strove to maintain the illusion cast in childhood, and his eyes fell back onto the family tree. _Fárbauti_. A face nearly forgotten and image erased from all history books, but memories still strong of shared laughter as they hid under blankets and told old ghost stories. Odin smiled and shook his head.

“You and Papa were close,” whispered Helblindi.

“You called Fárbauti by ‘Papa’?”

A blush crossed Helblindi’s cheeks, as he shrugged and smiled in turn. He touched the papers closest to him with long fingers, while casting red-green eyes over their contents, and – for a long few moments – Odin feared that there would be no response. The room itself was covered with various bookcases and shelves, so that even the windowsill was laden with books and parchment, but in a few places a portrait or two would peek through . . .

One such portrait was yellowed and flaked in places, due to years spent in direct sunlight, and a note below – written in the Jotun tongue – marked it as one for restoration, but the subject itself revealed a half-Jotun with intensely black hair and green eyes. The facial structure was all too familiar, with eye soft and narrowed with a mischievous smirk, and yet the image was taken from a specific age between ‘stolen child’ and ‘mature consort’. Helblindi followed Odin’s gaze, before he let loose a low hum and rested his chin on clasped hands, as he said:

“I know it’s childish by Asgardian standards, but the word means ‘friend’ in our language. It was considered an odd – yet acceptable – quirk by our people, while only we knew its true meaning, and Papa enjoyed that . . . he used to call our grandfather by that word, too.”

“Aye, I also called my father ‘Papa’. I stopped when I became a man.”

“It made us feel closer to our Asgardian heritage. It meant more to me, as my natural form is that of an Asgardian, and so I’d envision what it must be like in lands where I’m able to walk freely without so many layers and see the sun rise over green fields . . . I sometimes saw Papa staring at the stars, only to smile when Father placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I always asked to visit those realms, but it was forbidden. We were ostracised from other realms, clinging to outdated traditions and seclusion, while travel was impossible outside of these snowy climes. There were some hundred years between myself and Býleistr, another few hundred between Býleistr and Loki, as such only _I_ truly witnessed the transition between a ‘cold war’ and outright war. Loki was our hope for a new era.”

“Loki was also our hope for a brighter future,” added Odin.

“Why take him, Odin? He was your nephew, but he was not your son. Did you think that the only claim was the Asgardian claim? Did you think that with Fárbauti gone that all rights reverted to Asgard? We placed him in that temple to keep him protected. You know as well as I that temples are sacrosanct and your actions are considered a war crime.”

Odin winced. He dropped a hand around the cold mug; condensation froze between his hand and the pewter, creating a seal that would be broken once his hand removed, and he cursed that the illusion of an Asgardian form could not fully replicate the Asgardian physique. A lift of the mug revealed a ring on the letters beneath, which he dabbed away with a handkerchief taken from his pocket, before he dropped the mug onto a free part of the table. Helblindi said nothing, while Odin pursed and licked at his lips with a furrowed brow. Odin whispered:

“What was I to do, Helblindi?”

“Not steal away the brother I so adored,” said Helblindi.

“Did Fárbauti never tell you the truth?” Odin scoffed. “Did he not tell you how Bestla stole him from his bed and forced him into these lands? Did he not tell you how I was left alone with no goodbye kiss or farewell words? I came across a baby abandoned in a temple, where only the gods themselves were left to take pity, and I saw in Loki a part of myself. If Bestla could have discarded a son, why was I to believe Laufey to be any different?

“No, I would not have left Loki to that living hell. I would not cast the fate of abandonment even on my worst enemy . . . to spend every night awake in anticipation of a possible return, to struggle to forge friendships as you see yourself unworthy of love, to blame those around you as you search for reason in chaos . . . better that he never know the truth.”

“So one Jotun hurt you and you cast all Jotuns by the same light? I wonder what Bor taught you about our people, but I already know you view us as monsters and lost causes . . . just remember, we are a part of you. I share _your_ Jotun blood. Do you hate yourself, too?”

“I fear your question far too impertinent,” spat Odin.

Odin pushed back the chair. He walked about the room, while Helblindi continued to sit with an impassive gaze across the content of the table, and he allowed his hands to trace across the leather of books and papyrus of ancient documents, while the wind howled outside with ferocity rare to climes outside of Jotunheim. A few were handwritten and personalised, while others were mass produced from realms far beyond, and he stopped when he reached the family records of Laufey’s line. Odin drew in a deep breath and dropped his hand.

A loud scrape of a chair echoed out; Helblindi struggled to cross the room stacked so heavily with books and papers and documents, while humming a low song and wearing an incorrigible smile, and – as Odin took in a harsh hiss of breath – a part of him expected some form of provocation or sarcastic comment as would often come from Loki. Odin touched at the genealogy book once more, as Helblindi came beside him and stood silent.

A few seconds passed, until Helblindi tilted the book for Odin. It slid into his hand, as he removed it and his wrist nearly buckled under the weight, while inside every page contained images of the various Jotun who made up the branches of the family tree. A few were merely blots of ink from carved wood, but more recent ones were photographs despite advances in technology, and yet every one was clear and decipherable. One of the most recent was of a beautiful babe with familiar facial ridges . . . Loki . . . a baby with a wide smile.

“Loki looked at me with such beautiful eyes.” Odin blinked. “He cried with such strong lungs, all alone in that temple with no one to ease his pain, and I remembered . . . I remembered how I would cry myself to sleep as I stared at the moon, wondering whether my father cared if I cried for him and how my tears were wasted. I held Loki and he stopped. It seemed all he wanted was basic contact, so how could I deny him when I knew his pain?”

“We took no pleasure in leaving him alone,” whispered Helblindi.

“You would have had me put him back onto that cold stone? No, I still only have your word that this child was wanted. Did you know that Laufey referred to Loki as the ‘bastard’ son? Did you know he took pride in killing the heirs of his enemies? We were once both brutal realms and I could not simply trust that Loki would survive.”

“He used the term ‘bastard’ in mockery.”

Odin quirked an eyebrow, while Helblindi flipped the pages. The book was still in Odin’s hands, which left a strange sensation of ever-changing pressure, but soon the pages fell on the most recent branches of the tree . . . three children borne to Laufey, three borne to Býleistr, and none to Loki or Helblindi . . . a few connecting lines by Loki and Helblindi were etched over and over until finally scribbled, as if the writer were confused over connections. Odin shook his head and closed the book, as he turned to Helblindi and asked:

“What do you mean, child?”

“Our people are monogamous,” said Helblindi. “The average person may have only three sexual partners in a lifetime, while many will have only one, and we bind ourselves through a spiritual ceremony of spilt blood that is always combined. The documents are only those that prove the union of souls, which forbids any future such ‘marriages’, but they carry no legal weight that your contracts bring  . . . no custody, no alimony, no division of assets . . .

“If there is a breakdown or death, the one who remained gains everything. The only exception is that of abuse; in recent centuries, the abuser will be imprisoned and relinquishes all rights to the victim. It is a system that works well, but one your people consider invalid. Asgard never acknowledged the wedding between Laufey and Fárbauti.”

“I will happily change our laws upon my return,” replied Odin. “I will even retroactively apply them, so you will no longer be considered a ‘bastard’, but I cannot go back in time and know that Laufey used such terms to mock our laws. I cannot return to that moment and know that Loki was wanted. I only can live now with the knowledge that I would have done it all again, as my son is more dear to me than any political union between our realms.”

“You would risk war to keep Loki as your ‘son’?”

“It was a risk I took a thousand years ago. I would take that risk again.”

Odin slammed the book back onto the shelf. A waft of dust drifted through the air, while the slid of leather on wood echoed through the room, and Odin marched towards the windows with head held high and nostrils flared. He pressed his knuckles to the wooden sill, as he leaned forward until forehead practically touched at the glass. The wind picked up speed outside. In the distance, Odin watched as Jotuns gathered along the main road from the palace to the city gates . . . markets opened, groups gathered . . . Helblindi said in a cold voice:

“By law, Loki is ours.”

The world outside continued onward, even as Odin heaved a loud sigh. A small child ran from a stall with a piece of fresh fruit in hand, clearly imported from some other realm, and clearly diplomatic trade deals had increased greatly in the past month. It was difficult to envision Loki in blue skin excited over the novelty of a peach, as well as impossible to imagine him an adult roaming the hall of a palace made of stone and ice . . .

“I raised Loki,” said Odin. “I taught him. I –”

“Do you know adoption doesn’t exist in our realm?” Helblindi smiled. “We believe blood is the only thing that defines family. If the parents die -? We will scour the family tree, even if we have to go to the farthest branches, and we will make sure they will go to the closest blood relative capable of raising a child. Laufey’s blood was closer than yours, Odin.”

“Aye, but does that make him a father? By Asgardian law, family is a matter of legal and contractual ties. We can love a child adopted. We will treat the adopted child as equal to any biological child. Thor and Loki are entitled equally to my throne, my assets, my –”

“That would hold up more were it a _legal_ adoption.”

“By our laws, it was legal. Loki was abandoned.”

“Except he _wasn’t_ ,” spat Helblindi.

A lip curled. Helblindi angled his body to face Odin, with arms folded over a toned chest, and the smile on his lip was so cold that Laufey could be seen in the expression, even down to the subtle rolling growl at the back of the mouth. Odin stared hard at Helblindi, while hands fisted once more at his sides. The stand-off filled the air with _seiðr_. It was palpable and rich, enough that every hair stood on end and Odin grew light-headed, but he retained control over his frame and simply nodded slowly to Helblindi. Helblindi nodded back.

“I want my brother back,” said Helblindi. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions; it is quite the relief, as he’s chosen to be a part of our family, but that means you do _not_ interfere and do _not_ undermine our familial bond. He is my full-blooded brother. I loathe that he has chosen to identify with his captor and continues to claim kinship with you, but I would rather endure shared rights than no rights . . . I need you to respect Loki’s choice.”

Helblindi turned. He walked towards the table with great speed, so that his cape billowed out behind him with an enviable grace, and – once there – dropped a finger onto the family tree with a sarcastic smile and a tilt of his head. Odin followed. The finger fell on Loki’s name, where clear ties linked him with Býleistr and Helblindi, while a familiar portrait of his imagined appearance lay just above his name: Loki Laufeyson. Odin struggled to keep a slow and steady heartbeat, as he took in deep and pained breaths. He swallowed hard.

“I will respect his choice,” muttered Odin. “I will respect it only if you pay respect in turn, which means you shall not try to turn my son against me or insist he is not a part of our family, especially as he already struggles to feel as if he belongs. He is an Odinson.”

“Very well,” said Helblindi. “Loki must still make recompense for his crimes, however, as such he will spend a considerable amount of time in our realm . . . I hope this shall not be a problem? Loki will be helping our sick and injured, while learning healing _seiðr_ as he works, and it will be many years until he has done even a modicum of the work needed to clear the blood from his ledger. Our people will not easily forgive him. It’ll take _time_.”

“I only hope that time spent here will aid in the mental state of my son. If he is to spend weeks here as he has done, I must demand that you enforce his visitation to healers specialised in mental health. It may be that Loki never forgives me, but I will not stand by and allow for his health to deteriorate due to his old grudges. He must get well.”

“On this, we can agree,” said Helblindi.

“I shall also ask that you allow me to send forth supplies. Thor and Loki have expressed a desire that we send aid as a nation to your people, and it is an action that would please them greatly, as such I have prepared various medicines and meals that would relieve some of the strain on your services and supplies. It can be sent to you within the hour.”

“No, thank you,” said Helblindi.

Helblindi bowed far too deep for a monarch. It exposed the back of his neck, while his hand was clasped to his breast, and – as he stood tall with chin held high – there was a clear smile of pure amusement written across his features, while his eyes barely met with Odin. He spun around as if lost in a dance, before he threw himself down into his chair with both legs draped over one arm and his upper body sprawled over the other arm. Odin shook his head and stormed forward, as a bright blush crossed his cheeks and he lips spat out:

“You would decline our aid?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” chirped Helblindi. “I would do nothing that would put my people under unnecessary hardships, but I do have pride and you’ve attempted no reconciliation in these past four months. I haven’t even heard word that you attempted to make amends; it’s enough to make me wonder whether you would ever have sought to aid us were it not for Loki, and I will not have my people made into a charity case . . . we are warriors.

“My people have rebuilt a city from ashes. We have redesigned our capital and redistributed our people, and we have revolutionised our transport and reignited old alliances, and – slowly – we are creating a society to put to shame anything envisioned by Laufey. On the completion of our new realm, I would like to say: ‘ _we_ did this’.”

“I did not mean to slight your accomplishments,” replied Odin.

“And _my_ accomplishments they shall remain.”

Helblindi waved a hand and winked. Odin quirked an eyebrow and scoffed, as he returned to his seat and tapped at the various drafts of peace treaties, and Helblindi continued to hum an old tune under his breath, one once sang by Bestla during cold nights. The papers provided little interest, but one in particular caught his eye: Thor was marked with an unborn child. It was something his eye passed over several times, but now it begged a serious question of how such knowledge could be known by the Jotun people. Odin asked:

“What is this, Helblindi?”

A loud laugh echoed out, as Helblindi swung his body around. He dropped his feet onto the ground, while leaning his forearms onto the tabletop, and a warm smile graced his lips while he shrugged with a casual gesture. Odin hissed and stepped back. The snow swept against the windows in small piles, while the temperature dipped below that even comfortable for a Jotun, and his heart raced within his chest. Helblindi sighed and said with a low murmur:

“I am not the father, if that is what concerns you.”

“Who is the father, Helblindi?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” teased Helblindi. “I know that the truth will come to light soon, at which point all tongue may talk freely, but how do you expect me to answer such a question at this stage? If I knew and told you the truth, I would be hated for a betrayal of trust. If I knew and kept the truth from you, it would reinforce your belief that Jotuns are liars.”

“Then you _know_ the father?”

“I said no such thing. You merely assumed as such.” Helblindi smiled. “I will simply say this to you, Odin Borson . . . talk to Thor. There is no more frightening time than one spends pregnant, enough that you often fear no one else will comprehend your experience, and you too often rather keep quiet than face the fear of boring or alienating others.

“There is a great deal Thor would tell you, if he did not fear the reaction. I know you mean well. I know you love him unconditionally with all your heart, as you do with my brother, but _knowing_ this is not the same as _feeling_ this . . . they know they are loved, but they do not feel loved. You need to create an environment free from fear. Make it known to them that you accept them both without conditions, then one shall reveal the father to you.”

Odin briefly closed his eyes. He flexed his fingers and thought to his sons, before standing and nodding with respect toward Helblindi, and – as he turned to leave – his eyes fell on a piece of colourful paper almost entirely hidden beneath a pile of treaties. A gentle pull scattered the documents on top, sending them falling into a messy pile to the side, but the paper beneath soon revealed itself with the familiar crayon of a children’s picture. The condition was almost perfect, as if the drawing were purposely preserved.   

The image featured three adult Jotun; one with black-hair, one just like Laufey, and another with a smile that broke the lines that defined his face. A black-haired child sat next to the figure of a larger child, while an old Jotun sat on a throne behind them. The name scrawled in the corner said simply ‘Hilmar’. Odin lifted the paper and blinked back tears, as he realised that the paper was likely the last drawing by his great-nephew. A morbid reminder.

Odin dropped the drawing onto the table. Helblindi blinked back tears, as his smile now completely faded from his lips, and his head was bent so low that a few strands of loose hair shadowed his expression and hid him from sight. It was easy to relate to that level of grief, although the wound would still be fresh for Helblindi. Odin cast away his gaze, allowing Helblindi that moment of grief, before he walked slowly towards the main doors that were opened by obedient and expectant guards. He could not afford to lose another child.

Odin would speak with his sons.


	9. Chapter 9

“Thor, I swear to Valhalla –”

Loki brushed the snow from his lapel. It fell like powder onto the icy tiles below, as he leaned against the inside of the porch and narrowed his green eyes, and – as he drew in a deep breath – only the sound of loud laughter made it clear he was no longer alone. The sounds drifted out behind a large mound of snow, recently piled from the servants who ploughed a way between door and palace gates, and occasionally a glimpse of blond hair was visible.

A sliver of blue peeked out from one side, before pulling back with giggles. Loki let loose a low hiss of breath, while Agnar leaned out from a window and shouted a warning in complex Jotun that was beyond comprehension, and – for a few seconds – the laughter died away with loud groans and muttered curses. Agnar sighed and closed the window. _Finally, the pranks were over_. Loki smirked as Thor and Steinn stood behind the snow-pile. They kept their heads low like petulant children, with hands clasped behind their backs, and both frowned.

It was suspicious.

Loki opened his mouth to question both, until bright smiles covered both faces, and suddenly a barrage of snowballs were thrown at Loki, until they smashed against his leather coat and drifted down every crack and crevice of his outfit, until he gasped and danced where he stood, as he tried to get cold ice from between bare skin and thick layers. Thor was the first to break into laughter, as he clutched at his stomach and let tears build in his eyes, before Steinn followed suit and turned to high-five Thor . . . a bad habit taught by the latter.

He clenched his heart and glared daggers. A harsh breath was drawn, as his heart raced loud in his ears and a surge of adrenaline coursed through him, and he briefly closed his eyes as he focussed his _seiðr_ and flicked a hand toward Thor. The snow crackled and sparkled with energy, until it finally burst towards Steinn and Thor and buried them both under a cold heap, as Loki took his turn to laugh at both. They were completely vanished from sight.

“You cheated,” murmured Steinn.

They climbed out of the snow, as both pouted and muttered complaints. Thor shivered and shook, as he jerked his legs in a desperate attempt to get the melting snow out of his clothes and away from bare skin, and – with high-pitched whines – he acted much like a child or animal in a way that had Loki laughing until his sides physically hurt. A few seconds later, Thor stumbled over to Loki and pointed a trembling finger towards him. The curled lip was enough to have Loki raising his hands in mock surrender. He struggled to hold back laughter.

“I warned you several times,” said Loki.

“I am pregnant, Brother. You cannot be so rough.”

Loki rolled his eyes, as he made a point of looking to the stomach. The swollen skin was well protected under many layers of furs and leathers, while custom-made armour was provided by the Jotuns to cover his stomach for extra consideration, and – despite flushed cheeks from the cold – there was no sign of any harm from such a harmless prank. Indeed, Steinn already contented himself by making a snowman from the now upturned snow-pile. Loki stepped closer to Thor, until he could covertly slide a hand against his stomach, and asked:

“Is that to be your excuse every time?”

“Only while I am with child,” teased Thor. “I have just over two months left of this pregnancy, Loki, after which I may return to full duties and exercises. What special treatment will you afford me, then? At least allow me to play some pranks for once.”

“You are being a bad influence upon Steinn. Will you behave?”

“Oh, so _I_ am the bad influence? That is hard to believe.”

Thor gently took Loki’s hand. He brought it to his lips, where the rough beard tickled at smooth skin, and – with a wink – dropped the hand away to march back to Steinn, where he picked up two discards wooden swords on the snow and tossed one to Steinn. It was caught with a clumsy grip, as Steinn abandoned his snowman and stood according to the posture taught to him over the course of the afternoon. Thor took a strong stance opposite. He shook some snow out of his hair, before holding the sword high as befitting a warrior.

“Do you remember what I showed you, Steinn?”

Steinn rolled his eyes with a smile, before taking up five specific stances. The order was precisely that of the fundamentals taught to Thor as a child, although far removed from the techniques that Loki learned from Frigga, and he moved with a rigidity that spoke of one unfamiliar with using a weapon. The sword was not an extension of him, but instead an alien body that he wielded with slow and choppy movements. Loki shook his head.

“I still prefer Jotun melee techniques,” said Steinn.

“Ah, but a _true_ warrior must be experienced in all forms of warfare.” Thor tapped the wooden sword against the snow. “You must know hand-to-hand combat, _seiðr_ , and various types of weaponry, which is what I shall show you when I am able. Did you know that you are part Asgardian? You and I are cousins, Steinn. These techniques are in your blood!”

“People evolve for reasons, Thor. We once had to live in caves, but I prefer living in a house even if cave-dwelling is in my blood. Uncle Loki has been teaching me _seiðr_ , and Papa is teaching me hand-to-hand combat because Daddy is pregnant.”

“I thought that was supposed to be a secret?”

“It is, but he’s really _fat_ ,” said Steinn.

Loki burst out into choked laughter. He hid his mouth behind his hand, while Thor instinctively dropped his free hand to the armour about his stomach, and – with a pout and flared nostrils – Thor tossed his sword onto the snow and finally relented. Steinn simply furrowed his brow and shrugged, unaware of the unintended insult cast on both his father and cousin, but he did catch the way Thor rubbed at his stomach with a paternal touch, and it was enough for Steinn to bounce on the heels of his feet and crane his head up to Thor.

“Your belly is pretty big, too,” said Steinn. “I was told all about how babies were made by Papa and Uncle Helblindi, but then Daddy got really big and then you came with a really big stomach that they said was a baby, so I knew that I was going to have a brother, too.”

“Is that right?” Thor asked. “Are you excited?”

“I think so? I miss Hilmar . . . I didn’t miss him when he was alive, because he was mean to me and always stayed locked in his room, but then he died and I realise he also used to read stories at night and sneak me extra deserts and made me laugh on days out. I don’t want the baby to be lonely, so I want to do nice things for him like Hilmar did for me.”

“I’m sure you will be an excellent big brother,” swore Thor. “Did you know that Loki and I were raised as twins? There were times were nearly drove each other to madness. He once swapped my shampoo with green dye, while I once left Mjölnir on his commode, and one time he filled my boots with tacks and I split the hilts of his daggers. It was not so much fun at that point, but there were times filled with love and adoration.

“He would defend me in any fight as he fought at my side. I would stay awake for nights on end to help him study for his exams. We sometimes played pranks on our father, although he once caught us as the ‘kick me’ sign was in our handwriting, and on some days we would have feasts and play games and laugh until we cried . . . I would not trade it for the world.”

“That sounds like me and Hilmar,” whispered Steinn.

A few tears pricked at Steinn’s eyes. Two small hands rose to rub them away, before Thor dropped to his knees and dropped a callused hand onto a tiny shoulder, and – together – they recited the traditional prayer to the dead taught to Steinn by Thor. A small smile graced those lips when the prayer was finished, while the door behind Loki creaked open. Agnar appeared at his side. Steinn shot his head towards his father and waved with a big gesture.

The swell on Agnar’s stomach was more noticeable, mainly from the lack of garments that hid the exposed skin from sight, and yet – were Thor to forgo his attire – still smaller than actuality for its earlier term, although the taut skin still provided an admirable glow. Agnar swallowed hard, as his lips trembled in memory of the lost son. He crouched down and offered out his hands to Steinn. Steinn ran towards him with great speed, and stopped only when his arms were thrown around broad shoulders and a warm embrace could be given.

Loki stayed silent. Thor walked across the snow with familiar crunches underfoot, until he stopped beside Loki with small clouds of breath blowing across the air, and Agnar finally stood with a small nod to each man in turn, while he clutched the hand of Steinn. A rich aroma drifted through the kitchen, likely a meat stew with a few imported herbs and spices from Vanaheim, and Loki drew in a deep breath and relished the scent.

“I hope he is causing you no trouble,” said Agnar.

“He is perfect,” replied Loki. “I merely fear what shall happen when my nephews are born. It seems Thor believes children should be playing pranks and engaging in battle, while Býleistr is frighteningly lenient for one surprisingly so horrifying in battle. Let us hope Steinn proves to be a good influence, as Thor certainly was not a good influence upon me.”

“I am sure that Thor would beg to differ,” laughed Agnar. “You are both adults now, with both very different views on how children should be raised, and many of those views will stem from your shared childhood and differing perceptions. I advise you now to seek compromise, as if you disagree now with Steinn who is but a nephew and cousin . . .”

“We will disagree more with this child,” muttered Thor.

“Trust me that it is very hard to predict how one shall be as a parent. I always assumed that I would be the lenient one that spoiled them all, but instead I have become the disciplinarian and the ‘spoilsport’ as Býleistr teases.  Your own children will exaggerate your quirks, as you will wish to do right by them far more than that of any other relation, and no one ever seeks to make compromises on what they believe is ‘right’. Learn to communicate now.”

Thor flushed a dark shade of red. Loki avoided the gaze of Agnar, half-certain he was aware of the unborn child’s true parentage, but it would be dangerous to ask such a question aloud before a child whose filter was not yet developed. The only sounds were a pot boiling over, while Býleistr sang and threatened to add some ingredients, and Steinn – with a squeal – ran inside to beg his other father not to ruin the meal, while Agnar chuckled and shook his head with tears already half-forming again. He stared after Steinn with a smile.

“I will wait for you inside,” said Agnar.

“You need not leave on –”

“It is fine, Loki. You have a visitor, it seems.”

Agnar retreated inside, even as Steinn ran back and complained about his father interfering with the dish, and – with a sigh – Agnar lazily waved back at them and disappeared with a low conversation with Steinn that soon was inaudible to even strained ears. Loki sighed and turned to Thor. He parted his lips with an unspoken question, but the words soon died before they were given birth, as he saw the stern expression writ across Thor’s face.

The once red cheeks were now white. He stared with narrowed blue eyes towards the gates of the secondary palace, where – on the small road beyond – a few servants milled on their way towards the village shops to find supplies, and the full force of the winds below could be seen sweeping vast blasts of snow and ice into a strong mist over every surface. The walls about the palace protected the gardens within from such forces of nature, but one figure grew more and more visible with every step towards them. Odin Borson strove to speak with them.

Odin walked with a formidable aura, despite his age and weakening frame. The wind blew at his long locks of grey hair, while his broad body looked all the larger for the many layers, and he walked with purpose and strength as if he were still younger than his years. He stopped a few feet from them. Odin nodded low and long, as he paid both men respects, and lifted his head to lock eyes with each of them in turn. Loki flinched and turned his head.

“My sons,” said Odin. “How do you cope?”

The question was asked with a terse tone. It was strained, as if difficult to force out such words, but the subtle wince at his eye – along with a shimmer of moisture – revealed the depth of pain and concern behind the stoic façade, as he flexed his hands at his sides. A sweat broke over his forehead, betraying his Jotun heritage as the layers only added unnecessary heat in an otherwise perfect climate for his physique, and Loki half-smiled without intent as a low sigh escaped his lips. He nodded to Odin and swallowed hard.

“I am well,” said Loki.

“We thought we might spend some weeks here,” added Thor. “It occurred to me that my child will be part-Jotun . . . I could not deny Bestla, even I so wished, and I desire my child to learn about his heritage and his culture. I have also learned more about the Jotun people in my short time here than I have since birth, and it is . . . enlightening.”

“I am sure Býleistr would invite you to stay, Father. The Jotun race is one that focuses on blood above all else, and – as such – you are his uncle and he would be grateful to get to know one whom he has heard many stories. Dinner is nearly ready, if you wish.”

“I did not intend to be here for long,” confessed Odin.

“Ah, why am I not surprised?” Loki rolled his eyes. “It is fine for me to be sent here, where I am expected to work off my cosmic debt through aiding those injured, but Odin Allfather – too good to mingle among mere mortals – could not deign to have so much as a meal with those who he sought so hard to abandon and forget. I understand well, Father.”

Odin winced with a broken smile. He stepped back into the snowy garden, a few feet from the porch under which they stood, and the ice cracked loud underfoot, while he reached upward to unbuckle the fur cape around his shoulders. It was pulled back to be draped over his arm, while he cricked his neck and tied back his hair in a style that Loki could not recall having seen in all his time on Asgard. Odin nodded to them, although he kept his eyes low on the many footprints immortalised on the day’s snowfall. He took in a deep breath.

“There is something I wished to show you, Loki,” said Odin.

Loki quirked an eyebrow, as he stepped forward. Thor clamped a hand on his shoulder, still the strongest of the pair even with belly swollen and firm beneath his armour and layers, and Loki – biting into his lip until he tasted iron – clenched his hands into fists. The warmth of Asgardian flesh could be felt even beneath the leather of his coat, only to be moved slowly to his neck and lightly grasp with a familiar and comfortable pressure.

“Then show me,” spat Loki. “What is this reason to leave?”

The seconds passed like minutes. The only sound was the laughter of Steinn from inside, along with the distant howls of the winds against the walls that protected the secondary palace, and – for a moment – Loki feared that Odin would simply leave. A sparkle of _seiðr_ ran through the air, enough to force him into full alertness. It was strong. It was warm and electric, much like what Thor possessed, but it stemmed solely from Odin.

Loki struggled to keep his heartbeat under control, as . . . slowly . . . the tips of Odin’s fingers turned a dark shade of blue, before it spread like trickling water over his hands and arms and neck . . . soon his face was as blue, with hardened ridges on darkened flesh. Loki stepped forward. He raised a hand towards Odin and let it drop, as his mouth opened and closed with desperate attempts to find words, while red eyes watched him with a sadness that was visible even from the small distance between them. Odin nodded to Loki and whispered:

“I thought you would need time to process . . .”

Loki blinked back his tears. The blue form was quickly replaced with the illusion of an Asgardian form, complete with a blush to wrinkled and sunken cheeks, and Odin returned to staring at the ground with now cloudy blue eyes, as his hands trembled at his sides. Loki rubbed at his mouth and face, while Thor held ever tighter onto his shoulder with a light hiss of breath that let loose a low cloud. Loki could only rapidly blink and shake his head, as he buried a hand into his hair and gripped enough to send forth a jolt of pain. Loki asked:

“You would show me your true form?”

“I treated you badly over these years, Loki,” said Odin. “I see now that your mother and I gravitated each to a child, thinking that – so long as both were loved equally – it would not matter which parent gave attention to which child. I see now we were wrong. Thor felt second-best in Frigga’s heart, while you felt neglected and unwanted by me . . .

“Do not doubt that you are loved, Loki. I may despise your actions, as you destroyed the Bifrost and decimated Jotunheim, but I could never despise _you_ and I will forever be your father in all matters. If I had spent more time with you . . . if I had trained you alongside Frigga . . . if I had showed you my true form . . . it may have been that much of this resentment was curtailed, and you would not have felt the need to ‘prove’ your worth to me.”

“I – I . . . thank you,” murmured Loki. “I wish that this was something said sooner, but . . . it is all that I have ever wanted to hear. Everything I did, I did for you. Still, I must know whether you still think the Jotun monsters. Is that why you still hide your true form?”

“I have struggled as you have struggled, my son.”

Odin walked slowly towards the low wall of the flowerbeds. He forewent the stone bench cast in the indented part under a large tree native only to Jotunheim, and instead sat on the wall where his callused fingers ran against the rough brickwork with a curious touch. Loki followed and sat beside him, as his footsteps covered each and every one of Odin’s on his path toward him, and – cautiously sitting on the wall – he tried to keep Thor in his eyesight. It brought a nod and a smile from Thor, who watched from the shelter of the porch.

“Do not forget it was Laufey that abandoned you,” said Odin. “These are the people with whom we have warred for millennia, while Bestla was the one to cast me aside, and I find it hard to wish to associate with those that would disassociate with me.”

“I am still an Odinson,” whispered Loki. “ _I_ did not disassociate.”

“Did you not?” Odin smiled. “Loki, it matters not my reasons. I imagine – many months from now – I may one day come to accept my true form, and perhaps I shall reveal my Jotun skin to the world without shame or fear of their reactions. I only know that I look to you and I feel pride that my son has made the progress I could not . . . you have accepted these people.”

Loki clasped his hands on his lap. He picked at the skin between his fingers, as he pulled and tugged at the digits with teeth tightly embedded into his lip, and he furrowed his brow as his vision blurred with tears yet to be shed. Every breath from Thor was loud, while every rustle of his clothes was exaggerated as he fidgeted for warmth. Loki screwed shut his eyes. It did not help to be reminded of his presence, just as it did not help to feel Odin so close beside him, and he struggled to hold back the sting of his tears, as he choked out:

“If I were a Jotun, would you still accept me?”

“Of course,” swore Odin. “ _Of course_.”

The world blurred in his vision. Loki panted for breath and kept his eyes closed, as he let out quick and loud exhales of breath through his nose, and held trembling hands so tightly clasped that the knuckles turned white from pressure. It was difficult to let go of the _seiðr_ , as it crackled at his fingers with a familiar sense of comfort. He opened his eyes and stared at a fixed point in the distance. The _seiðr_ slowly faded away to leave only his natural form . . .

It was impossible to ignore. The pink of his nose quickly faded into a dark blue, as – for the first time in life – he was truly aware of the appendage in his vision, and every fidget of his fingers led to his eyes shooting toward the movement, where he would jerk as if it were another set of hands on his upper legs. The blood magic that bound him to a physiological form had long been gone, since the handling of the Casket, but the blue skin remained masked under a self-induced illusion, and now it was gone . . . finally cast aside.

“You still look every bit like Loki Odinson,” swore Odin.

Loki winced and jumped to his feet. He paced back and forth, as he buried his face into his hands and let his growing locks of hair partially obscure his face, and he avoided Thor’s gaze in its entirety by keeping his head as low as possible, even as Odin stood and clasped a hand onto his shoulder with a low exhale. Loki finally stopped and turned to see Odin. The Asgardian form was familiar, but left Loki with a stab in his heart and forced him to raise his hands, as he flexed his fingers and swallowed hard at the sight of blue palms.

“I have been toying with this decision for a while,” confessed Loki.

“What changed your mind, Loki?” Odin asked.

“The Jotuns accept me without condition.” Loki frowned. “They have become a family to me; I was afraid that taking my true form would be distancing myself from my home, so that you would see me only as a Jotun and less as your son, and I could not deny myself my familial bonds to those that gave me life and raised me from birth. It was too much to bear.

“I hope now to belong to both reams, if both families will so allow. I know that I may well have hidden my true form for centuries, if it had meant keeping my identity, and so perhaps this was a blessing in disguise . . . I can now be free to be my full self.”

“A son of Asgard, but heir of Jotunheim,” said Odin.

Loki said nothing, but Odin squeezed at his shoulders. It was not quite an embrace, but – from Odin – it was a great deal of intimacy more than was often shared, and a smile broke across his lips even as Loki drew in a deep breath to hold back his tears. A glance to Thor revealed a blush on pale cheeks; Thor strove not to make it obvious how he stared, but he was far from the master of subterfuge as he believed. Loki scoffed and shook his head with a smile, before he offered a trembling smile to Odin and asked in a whisper:

“Will you truly not stay for dinner?”

A squeeze at his shoulders lingered, until it finally released in pressure. Odin stepped back with a shake of his head, before replacing his fur cape and letting down his hair, and soon he was every bit the Asgardian king that he reality proved. Loki swallowed hard, as he twitched his fingers with a crackle of _seiðr_ , but – closing his fist with a contorted face – fought the urge to replace his illusion in turn. Odin could only reply with a low:

“I am not as strong as you, Loki.”

“In that case, we will see you in some weeks,” said Loki. “I have more that I must do for our people, while Thor has sought to get to know our family and build a connection, and then perhaps we may talk in some detail? There is much that needs to be said.”

“I would like that, Loki. I look forward to such a conversation.”

“You say that now, Father . . .”

Thor walked over through the snow. He continually looked between hands and face, with eyes wide in wonder and tongue occasionally peeking out to lick at his lips, and – as Loki squeezed his eyes in silent warning – Thor stopped a few feet short and pulled back what was an outstretched hand, before standing silently at the side of his brother. Loki flared his nostrils and closed his eyes, before he turned back to Odin with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” whispered Loki.

Odin briefly took Loki’s hand. The touch lingered with a cold touch, as Odin nodded to them both in turn and muttered a reply too low to be heard, before hands released and Odin turned his back to begin the long march back to the departure point. Loki watched as Odin grew smaller and smaller, until the harsh winds and snowstorm outside enveloped him whole and stole him from sight, and Thor came behind him to awkwardly wrap his arms around Loki’s waist, as he buried his head into a cold and blue neck. He was Jotun, at last.

A tear fell, as Loki finally smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

_‘Do you still love me?’_

_Odin stood before the mirror. The blue skin reflected back was ravaged with lines from time, both deep scars that appeared almost black and wrinkles darkened with deep crevices, and it took all his strength to avoid looking into those red eyes, as he lowered his head. Frigga came behind his naked form, with hands roaming high over broad shoulders. He remain silent as she massaged at the cool skin, with fingertips digging deep into various knots and ridges, as she worked him to a relaxed state with great expertise._

_It was a form familiar to the touch, as she long memorised every last detail. There would be no bruise or mole or ridge unknown to her fingers or mouth, even as the visual of the form itself was likely lost to her memory, and – with a shuddered breath – he leaned back against her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders with a hum of contentment. He smiled as she kissed at his neck and let her lips linger against his earlobe._

_‘Of course I still love you,’ swore Frigga._

_The hands roamed down his chest and over his arms, before they looped underneath and wrapped around his waist, and he rested his hands over hers and clasped them together, while soft lips pressed at his shoulders with the swell of her breasts warm against his back. It brought a smile as her perfume drifted through his senses, light and floral in nature, and a glance to the bed revealed a few scattered petals that spoke of a clear intent. The attraction was not eradicated. It anything, it appeared increased for his complete trust. Frigga asked:_

_‘Why would you think that I would love you any less?’_

_‘It occurred to me that I have hidden this form even from my beloved,’ whispered Odin. ‘I have too long tried to repress this part of myself, as if I bore no Jotun blood in my veins, and that self-hatred may have led Loki to believe himself as worthless as I was taught to feel by my father . . . I have become the man I feared and I cannot stand that fact.’_

_‘No, Odin,’ said Frigga. ‘You are a far better man than he pretended.’_

_‘Ah, then why do Loki and Thor seek to spend time on Jotunheim? I feel as if I have pushed them away, and I wonder whether I should embrace this form on a permanent basis, so that Loki knows he is still my son no matter what form he so takes.’_

_Frigga turned with arms still locked around his waist, until he was forced to raise his arms to accommodate her before him, and – lowering them to hold her impossibly close – he saw how those blue eyes shone with passion and respect. A swell of affection burst through him, as tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, and a kiss was pressed to her forehead as his heart raced in his chest. This was his only confidante. This was his only living friend. He buried his nose into her hair, as he breathed deep her unique scent, and whispered with a broken voice:_

_‘I just wish for my sons to return to me.’_

_* * *_

Thor sat before the flames.

The fire reflected well from the armour of Sif and Volstagg; every movement sent forth a beam of bright light that burned into his retinas, while otherwise oranges and reds danced on the metal with a familiar movement that he now envied, and he nearly lost his mind in those flickering and fluttering lights that never quite vanished. The two sat side-by-side on the large sofa of the royal lounge, while Hogun lingered in a corner by the shadows.

Thor rested his hands over his swollen stomach . . . _‘five months now, your third bimester’_. . . a smile swept across his lips, as he memorised every swell and stretch, and he could only curse that no longer did any armour fit the curve of his new frame. Each kick struck the sides of his stomach with painful blows, enough that it drew out many hisses of breath, but Fandral – as he patted him on the shoulder with a sympathetic grimace – could only offer forth useless words of advice half-remembered from midwives and gossip.

Thor dug his palms into his sides, as he tried to push back against the kicks. A small handprint appeared through the thin material of tunic-style top, the only masculine item that fit him in his current state, and he ran his hand over the one beneath – with a smile and a hopefully sigh – only for another to push at the other side. Thor groaned. There was no relief as his unborn child tormented him with kicks and punches from inside.

“You need to pace,” said Sif.

“What good is pacing in this situation?”

“You forget I was once with child.” Sif looked down. “Haldor and I may have suffered a great loss, but I will never forget those moments of joy whenever she kicked, as well as the relief when the movement of my walking would lull her into a sleep. I would invest in a rocking chair for that reason, so you may sleep as he also sleeps.”

“Now you mention it,” said Volstagg, “I do recall my wife experiencing that same thing! It would be all too often she woke during the night to kicks and punches, but – for our second – we invested in a swing outside and she would nap on the cool porch during summer.”

“It’s certainly worth a try,” added Fandral. “What harm can be done?”

“It will also release nervous energy,” added Hogun.

Thor threw himself to his feet. A loud hiss of breath escaped flared nostrils, as he slammed his feet down on the tiled floor and marched before the fireplace with head held low, and long strings of blond hair fell down to hide his face, as the familiar plait – braided with a lock of brown – lightly bounced in time with his strides. The child still moved and fidgeted inside him, but he ceased to punch and kick and Thor was able to finally breathe. He whispered:

“That seems to be helping.”

He dropped down onto the sofa with a smile, only for a small hand to punch just above his groin, and – with a growl that soon turned into a loud cry – he jumped up once again and marched with great speed and many a snarl. Tears pricked at his eyes, as Thor ran his hands through his hair and shook his head with flushed cheeks. Fandral silently handed him a mug of water as he passed by, which he took and gulped until each last drop was gone, and – still pacing – he dropped the mug onto the mantelpiece and continued to pace.

“You seem low, my friend,” said Fandral.

“I must soon talk to Father,” confessed Thor. “I would protect my lover until the end, but I know that – as soon as his name is spoken aloud – it will change everything . . . I will not be able to protect him from the gossip and rumours, just as I will not be able to protect him from Father’s rage and criticism, and I will not be able to protect him from any political fallout. I do not know how else to protect him, but his mental state is so precarious . . .

“If this follows the drama I envision, I do not know he will react. The only way to protect him would be to keep secret his identity, but to do that would be to deny his parentage of our son. I could not be so cruel! I also know I could not do this alone. I need him by my side, not hidden away like some shameful secret, because there is nothing shameful . . . _nothing_ . . .”

“There is nothing shameful with being _ergi_ , Thor,” whispered Fandral. “It – It was brought to my attention that isn’t – well – a _choice_. You can’t help liking this man any more than I can help liking women, so why should it be shameful, eh? Still, people don’t see it that way, which means that things probably _will_ change when you confess. Just . . . be prepared?”

“It is more than that . . . more than I dare admit right now, but I do love him with more than I could ever express . . . there have been rare times when I have kissed others, such as with Jane when I thought I had lost everything, and times when he has flirted with others, as he so often seeks for personal gain. Still, we have been absolutely faithful since fifty-five. I have lain with no other man and never completely with a woman, and yet . . . I am to be ashamed?”

“You shouldn’t have to be ashamed, Thor . . .”

Thor stopped before the fire. The mirror over the mantelpiece revealed his reflection, as well as the mournful and serious expressions of his companions, and yet a part of him thought back to every temptation in his youth, where – when drunk or fatigued – men and women flirted with him in abundance. The flirtations only went so far. The kisses never went further. It was a love as serious and enduring as any other, except forbidden and kept hidden, and Thor clenched his fist as he thought to friends and family, all so open and accepted.

“I think people fear what they do not understand,” said Fandral. “I know I struggled for some time, until I realised that you were the same friend and same man, and people are so afraid to come forward about being in monogamous relationships with men that . . . well . . . we assume they simply do not exist. People will grow and evolve, I promise.”

“Nothing shall change in your relationship,” muttered Hogun.

“I think he means that you have nothing to lose,” added Sif. “All factors are external, but you have never cared what people thought before. You may have to ask him to be less flirtatious, while you refrain from even so much as kisses with others, and you may have to marry so that the child will not be considered illegitimate, but . . . you will still be _you_. You can even still maintain the same overall relationship, so long as you make such small changes.”

“It may help change public perceptions.”

“Is that now my duty?” Thor scoffed. “I would give anything to change public perception, but I do not see why that should be expected and forced upon me, as if it were my responsibility simply by virtue of who I love and respect. It is a heavy weight to bear, while meanwhile I must hide away . . . unable to do what others do so freely . . . it is unfair.”

He slammed a fist down onto the mantelpiece . . . _forced spokesman of a downtrodden minority_. . . Thor yanked back his hand as ornaments rattled and the clock heaved its spring to an odd sound, and – with a loud swallow – he stumbled back and returned to pacing back and forth while his friends offered silent support. A ring shone on Volstagg’s finger. A scar lay hidden beneath Sif’s armour. A ring hung from Hogun’s neck.

They all bore physical reminders of marriages or unions, some present and some past, and even Fandral – single and unattached – often shared images or keepsakes from some lover or other obtained in recent weeks or months or years, depending on various factors. Thor pressed his hand to his upper stomach, where a tiny hand pressed back. He screwed shut his eyes for a brief second. A staggered breath escaped his lips, as he sought to memorise every finger and knuckle, half-desperate to finally be able to hold his son in arms.

“I simply wish that we could hold hands at meals,” said Thor. “I want to be able to kiss him at parties and sleep beside him on long journeys, but instead I must hide away all affection while slowly fighting at outdated stigmas and unjust prejudices.”

“Have you spoken to Loki?” Hogun asked.

“It may be helpful,” added Fandral. “I – I will admit that it is difficult to trust Loki. He nearly _killed_ you, Thor! I still look back to that day and feel a stab of fear, always feeling that stab of dread at the idea we may have lost our best friend, but he does truly love you . . . in his own way, I suppose. He would listen to your concerns. It may help.”

Thor laughed and sat back down. He could not tell them the truth; Loki knew everything, while the fear and problems ran deeper than just a simple same-sex relationship, but – with Loki equally affected – there was no real way to ask for outside opinions. Thor massaged the flesh of his stomach, while Volstagg stood and cricked his neck. A few second passed, until Volstagg marched across the room behind Thor and reached down with rough hands, and soon he was massaging his shoulders until Thor could only let loose a low sigh.

It was an oddly intimate gesture, but one that nearly brought Thor to tears. Volstagg was able to work loose every knot with admirable ease . . . _‘I know you’re no woman, but – well – I know my wife lived for these moments, especially so late on into the pregnancy’ . . . ‘aye, I remember the strain on my back, too’ . . ._ voices merged into a casual conversation, while Hogun came out of the shadows to sit beside Sif. Thor smiled and raised his head.

“Loki is still recovering,” murmured Thor.

“He appears to be better accepting of his race,” said Sif. “I have heard from our queen that he has recently taken up his Jotun form on a permanent basis, but I have yet to see for myself as he has spent his last few hours locked away with your mother. Does he seek her counsel on some issues regarding his mental health? Do we need worry of another attack?”

“Nonsense,” chirped Volstagg. “Loki is recovering just fine! I think it’s unfair for you both to treat him like a fragile flower, as if he might wilt at a mere touch! Loki would be furious if he knew you were holding back from him on his behalf. You know that, Thor.”

“Aye, this is why I have not kept secrets.” Thor drew in a deep breath. “I have told Loki everything, but there is only so much we can discuss about the father without running in circles back to the same issues and worries, and this is why I require the opinion of a third-party to provide an objective opinion. Still, I cannot deny Loki has much on his plate.”

“Well, not as much as _you_ , eh? I think our people are coming around to the Jotun race; maybe with not as much speed as you’d like, but your father has been punishing the servants quite severely for any slip of the tongue and including the Jotuns in formal events. I’ve actually spotted a few in the corridors on occasion. It probably helps that our history is slowly being revealed . . . murals uncovered, books released uncensored . . . every little helps, yes?”

Thor smiled. Volstagg ruffled his hair and returned to the sofa, where he sat on Sif’s other side and smiled bright with a low hum, and Thor – wrapping arms around his stomach – nodded to him with tears threatening to fall with sudden emotion. He quickly turned his head away, as Fandral laughed beside him and slapped a hand onto his back. A craving for ice and jerked meats overcame him. It came almost from nowhere, as a scent of freshly cooked food drifted through an open window, and he buried his face into his hands with a groan.

“It may be that Loki’s new identity aids us with Jotunheim,” added Hogun.

“Ah, that’s true,” said Fandral. “I hear that they plan to reopen trade talks once the Bifrost reaches completion, and I think a good deal of that has to do with Loki proving himself, especially as it helps Jotunheim to see a Jotun accepted so completely by our people. Of course, I believe there are a few that resent us for that same thing, but . . .”

“There will always be those that resent his act of attempted genocide,” muttered Sif. “It is all well and good that he is helping to heal those he has wronged, but – trust me – a parent can never get over the grief of a lost child. It is a scar they will bear until they die.”

“Only time will tell, I suppose.”

“Still, Loki understands what it means to be discriminated against. There may be those of the older generation that remember friends and family wrenched from them, but there also more of our age group that were raised only on stories of war and hardship, and I fear that Loki may still experience some pain from that alone. He will relate. You are not alone, Thor.”

Thor scoffed and rose once more. He marched over to the windows, where he rested his knuckles down on the windowsill, and leaned forward through the open space to allow a cool breeze to rustle his features, as he cast his head down to view the kitchens below. The servants congregated together, as they gossiped and laughed and leaned close . . . _‘you should see the size of him’, ‘he eats for two’, ‘I have only seen Volstagg eat so much’ . . ._ Thor shook his head and longed for the glass of Jotunheim. He needed something to slam shut.

“Thor, are you okay?”

The voice sounded like Hogun, but he could not be sure. He dropped forward and clenched his fists, until knuckles turned white and crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his palms, while his heart raced loud in his ears . . . _bang, bang, bang_. . . Thor struggled to breathe. The decrease in muscle mass was difficult to endure, but – more than that – the worst part was the ever-changing emotions and increase in fear. He knew not how to confess the truth to them, as the words hung like acid on a dry tongue, and he could only choke out:

“Loki knows the identity of the father.”

“Well, we figured that much,” teased Fandral.

“No, you do not understand.” Thor shook his head. “Listen, soon I must tell my father the truth, and – when that time comes – Loki will be by my side to do what needs must be done, but we shall need the support of our friends at such a difficult time. I know that Father will not support our relationship. I just cannot lose both my father and my friends . . .”

A slow realisation dawned on them. Thor turned around with watery eyes, just as the doors to the lounge opened and a familiar Jotun form entered, and – as Loki quietly closed the door shut with a muttered apology – Fandral was already on his feet. The air was thick with tension, as Sif slowly rose with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. Loki looked from face to face. A quick flicker of comprehension was replaced with horror, as he turned to Thor and stood with mouth opened wide, and a tear trickled down Thor’s cheek in response.

“Loki is the father,” whispered Thor.

Loki paled and raised his hands in mock surrender. Volstagg and Hogun rose in turn, as both men stared hard at Loki with scowls and threatening growls, and Fandral – hands fisted at his sides – was already halfway across to Loki, as Thor struggled to climb to his feet. He panted for breath and grunted as he fell back several times. The weight of his unborn son was too much to bear, as he soon managed to stumble back to his feet with a low groan.

It was too late to intervene, as Fandral stood inches from Loki. The first punch was thrown. A sparkle of _seiðr_ rushed through his veins, as Thor prepared to summon forth Mjölnir, but – with a loud laugh – Loki appeared simultaneously at Fandral’s side, as that clenched fist struck through an illusion that disappeared with a familiar shimmer. Loki jumped back when Fandral strove to punch again, only to finally give up in his attempt at retribution, and Loki simply bowed with hands held high with a sense of drama, as he spat out:

“Come now, do you _really_ think I would fall for –”

 _Sif slapped him_. The sound rang out around the lounge, as she took him by surprise, and – as Loki opened and stretched his lips with a loud ‘ouch’ – she stood with her hand still hovering in the air while her face turned deathly pale. No one dared move. Loki lowered his head until red eyes bore dark circles from the shadows, while his expression turned hard and his lip curled, but the tremble to Sif’s hand betrayed her sheer emotion. Thor knew how this would progress . . . _cruel jokes, physical threats, trust destroyed_. . . he hissed in breath.

“ _Enough_ ,” called Thor.

He stumbled forward with hands pressed to his stomach, before he stopped between Loki and Sif with eyes darting across the room in silent warning, and – as an awkward silence descended over them – he noted how no one dared lock eyes or reach out to him. Volstagg paced with face half-buried in his hands, as if to hide tears, while Hogun coldly calculated the situation and kept his hand tightly wrapped around the hilt of his blade. No one thought that it could be a relationship of equals. How could they? Thor swallowed hard.

“It was consensual,” confessed Thor.

Fandral laughed. Sif shook her head with a scowl. Tears spilled from his eyes, until he wiped them away with a sniff and a forced smile, and Loki simply slinked off to the side with total silence, as he stared at the floor and avoided further attention. He could feel their judgement . . . their confusion . . . their disbelief that someone would willingly engage in the act of incest. The tears were bitter on his lips, as he choked out once more:

“It was consensual . . .”


	11. Chapter 11

“Well, someone say _something_. . .”

Fandral paced back and forth. The sound of his leather soles smacked against the stone tiles, while Sif stood at some distance with weapons drawn and knuckles white, and – with heart racing in his chest – Loki struggled to find words in response. A joke would result in a threat or attack from Sif, while an insult would lead to contempt and distrust from Fandral. He raised his hands in mock surrender. Loki drew in a deep breath and asked with a smile:

“What is there to say?”

A loud scoff sounded from Hogun, as he dropped onto the sofa. The fires crackled and popped, while the breeze from outside whistled through the open windows, and – as Loki angled his head to catch the draught – Fandral paced and rested a hand on his hip. He scratched at his head and flared his nostrils. Volstagg stood behind the sofa with hands pressed firm to the cushions, but kept his head low on Hogun as if in search of an anchor.

Thor said nothing, but stood before Loki as a shield. Sif kept her guard before them, even as her weapon tilted according to every movement from Loki, and he quirked an eyebrow in her direction with lips pursed into a thin line. Every beat of his heart pounded in his ears, enough to drown out all background noises, and a part of him missed the cold sweats that would come when nervous, as his Jotun form stood noticeable among all other faces. He lowered his hand and flexed blue fingers with a wince, as Fandral choked out:

“How about _why_ you – you – you –”

“I fail to see the point in conversation,” said Loki. “You have already made up your minds. I merely had to _stand here_ for you to decide it must have been rape, despite the fact that Thor has always been physically stronger between the two of us, and – even _if_ I coerced him via other methods – do you really think he would have been silent for centuries?”

“Yes, if he felt ashamed! You hear what people say about him just on the assumption he had consensual sex with a man, so what person would feel comfortable coming forward about an attack like that, _especially_ if there was misplaced loyalty to the perpetrator?”

“So Thor would not have even trusted his closest friends? Interesting.”

“Thor is right here and can speak for himself,” spat Thor.

Thor turned to cast a dark glare on Loki. He turned his eyes up and down slowly over his form, before – with a loud huff of breath – pushing past Fandral a little too brusquely, and he stopped only when he could drop onto the sofa opposite Hogun and Volstagg. The large bump forced him to sit with legs parted, as he ran his hands over his stomach with firm presses and low hisses of discomfort. Sif stalked forward and sat directly beside him, while Fandral and Loki could only share uncomfortable looks with a cold silence.

A long few minutes passed between them, until Fandral nodded with a sigh. Loki nodded back, before gesturing for Fandral to go ahead, and – as both forced rather strained smiles – Fandral took a seat on Thor’s other side, while Loki sat on the third sofa between. It was close enough that he could reach out to Thor and touch his knee, but distant enough that it was clear he was no longer a trusted member of their intimate circle.

“I am sorry,” muttered Fandral.

Thor grunted in response, but bounced his hand in the air a few times. He soon let out a low hiss of breath, before clamping his hand down on Fandral’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze, and Fandral finally gave a sincere smile and nudged Thor with his fist. It was difficult to watch, as they all shared looks and gestures and subtle micro-expressions, and Loki – as he pursed his lips and swallowed back a forming lump – screwed shut his eyes and turned his head away, while Sif patted Thor on his back and asked in a low voice:

“Thor, were you protecting Loki?”

“No, I was not,” muttered Thor. “At least, I was not protecting him from any crime. We kept our relationship secret to protect us both, which is something that I think was for the best in hindsight, as – even now – it appears to lead to nothing except judgement and condemnation, while you seek to find blame and make a grey matter into black-and-white.”

“Mother and Helblindi were more understanding of matters,” added Loki. “I was not foolish enough to think everyone else would follow suit, but I had hoped that those who claimed to love and respect Thor above all else would be more patient toward matters.”

“You would have us be patient to a criminal?” Hogun asked.

“You have to admit, Loki, this _is_ a bit much to process,” said Volstagg. “If this is truly consensual, it means that you have both willingly engaged in both a crime and a sin. It also means . . . it also means that our best friend could not trust us enough to tell us about something so deeply personal and important to him, and – well – it does make one reassess their behaviours and attitudes. Did we do anything to push Thor away?”

“This is not about us,” mumbled Hogun. “It is about them.”

Volstagg opened his mouth to argue, but soon closed it with watery eyes. He ran a trembling hand over his face, while shaking his head with a smile that constantly changed into a frown, before – with a sigh – throwing his hands into the air and dropping them down with a slap onto the sofa cushions. A second later, he came around and dropped onto the sofa. The force of his weight caused Hogun to jostle and tilt, although his expression was equally as conflicted and his gaze constantly shot towards Thor with a softened stare.

“You did nothing wrong, my friends,” said Thor.

“If I pushed you away, I’m so sorry,” replied Volstagg.

“No one pushed me away. I know that Loki may not have trusted you, but that feeling was mutual between you, and so I can understand why communication may have been lacking on that score, but I _do_ trust you all more than I can express. It is just . . . I was afraid of what you may think of me, afraid that the secret may have gotten loose, and afraid that it would change things between me and Loki when things worked so well.”

“I will admit that I am surprised,” added Loki. “I expected that my Jotun form would be what repelled you, as such I was reluctant to visit before I had received validation from Mother, but here you are . . . in the company of a Jotun . . . punching me not for my skin, but instead my choice of a bed partner. This is far from what I expected. It is almost amusing . . . _almost_.”

“You say this is consensual?” Sif asked. “This is not an amusing situation, Loki. If you want any of us to understand your actions, I plead with you to explain how this happened. You need to explain to us how a man can grow to feel lust for his brother.”

“I – I have loved Thor for some time. I was a teenager when I first felt some stirrings of lust, while the love had always been there in some form, and I believe that is why I was somewhat confused and unable to confess my feelings to him. If I had always loved him, was it merely the presence of lust that made me _in love_ with him? If so, could I not love another?

“It was our sixteenth birthday . . . I left our party early, as I could no longer abide seeing him flirt and fuss over so many women, and I will not be ashamed to say that I cried on my bed, especially when Father said it was time we had our own rooms. I felt I was losing Thor, afraid that I would continue to feel this pining and be unable to endure it for an indefinite period, but how could I confess something so abhorrent and shameful?”

Loki leaned forward, with hands rested on his knees. He opened and closed each one in turn, while memorising the etched markings unique to his people, and – as he briefly closed his eyes – struggled to find words. A terrible burning struck his chest. The rolling of his stomach brought a wave of cramps and nausea, as he knew what words would come from the public once word got out . . . _‘he is the one that slept with his brother’, ‘an incestuous union’, ‘proof Jotuns are a perverted race’_. . . Sif broke him from his thoughts with a whispered:

“What happened after?”

“Thor found me and begged me to be honest.” Loki shrugged. “He did not hate me, although he made it clear that there could never be anything more between us, and he made me swear never to tell Father, as he would not understand. Thor pulled away. He looked ashamed and confused and I feared he resented me, and so I tried to run . . . I tried to flee . . .”

“It was then that I kissed him.” Thor smiled and licked his lips. “I can still taste the tears and mead, as I yanked him back and just . . . kissed him! I needed him to know that I did not hate him, while I may have reciprocated his feelings, but – in a panic – it was my turn to run.”

“Ah, how the tables turned. I never thought you would be the nervous one.”

“You yanked me back onto the bed, before I could leave . . .”

“I finally kissed you back and ended my tears.”

Loki smiled on Thor, as Thor smiled back in turn . . . _‘I thought you said there could never be anything more between us’ . . . ‘we can’t ever marry, Loki, not as brothers’ . . . ‘then behind closed doors, can we not be brothers just for a short while?’ . . ._ a blush on Thor’s cheeks revealed the memories that played in his mind. Loki chuckled and turned away, while Thor laughed and ran a hand over his neck and shoulders, before confessing:

“We were fifty-five before we became exclusive.”

There was music outside. It was slow and steady, something played solo and without accompanying instruments, and Loki smiled to recognise the tune, one similar to what played during their first time together. Thor slowly stood from the sofa, as he walked over to Loki and sat beside him with an arm thrown over his shoulders. It was an intimate gesture, as well as one seen thousands of times by their friends over the years, but only now did their faces harden and their bodies stiffen. Loki tensed, as Fandral coughed and asked:

“Why wait for so many decades?”

“We were not fools,” said Loki. “This is a crime that would throw the penetrative partner in prison, while a sin that would damn both souls according to old beliefs, and so I flirted with others in hope that I may grow to love them, while Thor fondled and groped anyone willing until he grew to be known as a womaniser. It mattered not what we did, for we could not fall in love with anyone else . . . _God how we tried_. I did not _choose_ to love him!”

“We finally swore to be loyal,” said Thor. “We knew there could be no one else.”

“It grew futile to deny what was obvious.” Loki smiled and shook his head. “We only consummated our union for the first time some three months before Thor’s coronation, as – contrary to belief – he is a romantic at heart and wanted to wait for a ‘special’ event, and the news of his impending coronation appeared enough to finally put him in the mood.

“Sadly, the room we chose was Father’s. It seems _someone_ could not wait, so we tumbled into the first room that we found, and – as Father returned early from his meetings – we were forced to pull apart quickly, which . . . may be why a child was not conceived. I was still mostly dressed, thus able to dress completely in a few seconds, and Father came into the room and found only Thor undressed. We claimed that he confused rooms . . . drunk.”

It said a lot that the excuse was believable. Volstagg let loose a bellowing laugh, while Fandral chuckled and Sif smirked, and – in truth – Thor had occasionally confused rooms when inebriated and often had been caught in compromising situations. It was understandable for Loki to seek to help his brother, although it would be another behaviour analysed and argued once the truth was known, and Odin would possibly never see them the same way again. Loki drew in a staggered breath and picked at the skin of his hands with a shrug.

“The next time was the day before the coronation,” said Loki.

A comfortable silence fell between them; Loki saw the various smiles and expressions between their friends, although the conflict was still writ across Sif and Hogun in particular, and he instinctively reached toward the swollen stomach at his side. Thor smiled and dropped his hand over Loki’s, able – for the first time – to relish in an open display of affection, and he moved his hand over where a small foot kicked out. The simple gesture was enough to slow his racing heart, as he thought back to the warm memories of their second time.

“It was beautiful,” whispered Thor.

“Aye, I will not deny.” Loki turned with a blush. “We had some difficulties, but only those that made us laugh or jest, and the rest was just a series of moments . . . shared intimacies, shared secrets . . . an experience seen or felt by no one else, just between us, and something to which we could carry until the day we died. We have not consummated since.

“Thor was confused and conflicted about my actions . . . my treason, my attempted genocide . . . so that he wanted time to process his emotions. In recent months, there is the consistent fear that penetrative intercourse may harm the child. I told him this is a foolish belief, but I am most content with our sexual life and our emotional relationship, and so I do not feel as if I have lost anything by the removal of one simple act.”

“I have never lain with anyone else,” confessed Thor. “I still identify as heterosexual, as I have never been attracted to any other man, and – I shall admit – many women have caught my eye and some I have kissed or held . . . I have only ever gone so far, before nausea and guilt overrode my desires, as it felt too much a betrayal. It was why I decided to be faithful only to Loki once we reached a set age, as I could not bear to be unfaithful.

“I do not know why Loki is my exception. I thought myself strange for a long while, until I studied sexuality in the Academy, and I learned that it is often something fluid and indecipherable, with my attraction perhaps being bisexuality with a preference to women, but I have given up trying to explain why I feel as I feel. There are some things beyond words.”

Hogun stood and walked slowly to the far wall. He faced an old painting, one that depicted an ancestor so distant that their name was all but forgotten, and the sound of his breathing was heavy enough to discern every exhale. Thor entwined his fingers with Loki over his stomach, as they clasped hands with a shared squeeze that removed the last ounce of tension from his shoulders. The draught from the window kept the unbearable heat from his skin, as he endured the warmth from the fire, but he maintained his composure. Hogun sighed.

“You are in love,” muttered Hogun.

“I have _never_ hidden the depths of my love,” said Loki. “I love Thor more dearly than anyone, which is why I could not bear for him to confess his love aloud. Why should he lose favour of the father he so admires? I know too well what pain that would bestow.”

“Well, I’m glad there is love,” interrupted Volstagg. “It would break my heart to think either of you felt coerced or pressured into such a union! Still, love isn’t always enough. You could love a pauper, but could you still bring yourself to live a homeless existence? You could love a war lord, but could you sit back and allow his actions by passivity?”

“That’s not to mention what society thinks,” added Fandral. “I can’t even imagine how our people will react! I know we swore to always protect one another, but how can we fight the laws and customs and beliefs of a population? How can we protect you from . . . gossip?”

“Do you still stand by us?” Thor asked.

“You ask a hard question,” murmured Fandral.

Fandral fell back against the sofa, as he ran his hands over his face. He furrowed his brow and stared hard at the ceiling, while Sif sat beside him with folded arms and crossed legs, and the silence between them was enough for Loki to fear the worst, especially when Volstagg remained silent and still bore a watery sheen to his eyes. A long minute passed, until Fandral threw himself forward and buried his face into his hands, before running his fingers through his hair with a half-smile that brought lines to his lips. He shrugged and shook his head.

“I support you both,” said Fandral. “I can’t say I _fully_ support such a union, simply because it’s a little bit strange to love someone you saw as a brother, but – well – that’s my issue, isn’t it? You aren’t brothers . . . not _really_. You are cousins, as far as biology goes. I think that is perfectly acceptable; most cultures wouldn’t view that as incest, after all, while I believe it’s rather the norm along royalty. I – I think I will support you fully with time.”

“That is not incest to you?” Sif asked. “They are cousins, Fandral! They share the same blood and are of close relation, which is not to mention how they were raised together, and this child would be one borne of incest and inbreeding, which puts it at higher risk of genetic maladies. It matters not that it is tradition or accepted by others, it is still wrong for a reason.”

“So you will not support them? That seems harsh.”

“I will support them, but we must be reasonable. Does Eir know that she must test for specific illnesses that are more prone from such unions? Does the Allfather know the political ramifications from this union? Do they truly expect us to just be okay with this after a mere thirty minutes of conversation? This redefines their relationship and our perception of it!”

“Yes, but ‘support’ means a lack of judgement. You sound judgemental.”

“I _am_ judgemental, because there is much here to judge!” Sif rolled her eyes. “How are you such an expert on the word ‘support’, but not ‘incest’? I define support as complete loyalty and trust between two people; I will never betray them, I will always stand by them, and I will defend from them anyone that speaks against them. Still, I see this as incest and it may be that I will never fully accept it, but . . . I accept _them_ as individuals. They are my friends.”

Thor let out a loud exhale. He fell forward as much as his stomach would allow, as the hand holding onto Loki dropped between them on the sofa, and – as he ran his fingers over another footprint on the other side of his stomach – he smiled with tears in his eyes and whispered a ‘thank you’ to both his oldest friends. Loki pulled at his collar with a smile. A wave of relief crashed over him with a rush of adrenaline, until Fandral waved his hand dramatically in front of Hogun and Volstagg with a quick of his lip. He soon gained their attention.

“Well?” Fandral asked. “You two are awfully quiet.”

A loud grunt was the only response from Hogun. Loki caught the wince from Thor, who quickly stood and returned to pacing back and forth, but it was difficult to tell whether it was from discomfort at the baby kicking him from inside or from pain at the silence of a friend. It was a silence that lingered, until Hogun turned and came to stand beside Volstagg, who merely grimaced and shrugged with a wave of his hand. Hogun grunted once more.

“I cannot support such a union,” said Hogun.

Thor stopped pacing and froze. He turned with pale skin, as his shoulders sagged and his hands came low around his swollen stomach, and it was as if he sought to support the weight of the baby in his arms, as he visibly swallowed with trembling lips. A smile was still apparent across his features, while he cocked his head with a display of feigned confidence. It was as if he wanted to laugh, perhaps to chastise Hogun for his teasing nature, but the frown that Hogun wore made it clear that this was no jest. Thor’s smile fell, as he asked:

“You do not support us?”

“You are brothers, Thor,” said Hogun. “You set an example for your people. The laws we have are there to protect our populations from harm, but if they choose to follow your lead then harm will follow . . . abuses of authority, an increase of inbreeding . . . it is wrong.”

“I understand that we must be held accountable to the same laws, but –”

“– it is why you must excuse me, my friend. I must think.”

Hogun bowed, before he turned and left. The only sound was that of his footsteps, loud and clear over the distant music and howling winds, and soon the door slammed shut behind him and the echo brought a wince to those that remained. Thor returned to the sofa and dropped down with a heavy thud, while he kept his head low so that his hair curtained his face and hid his expression. Loki touched at his shoulder. The tension was thick and the muscle solid, while Volstagg let out a low sigh that drew all eyes to him with heavy expectation.

“I can understand what Hogun means,” said Volstagg.

“You would not support us, either?” Loki asked.

“I honestly do not know.” Volstagg hummed. “I have children, Thor. I know that family is _not_ whose blood you have, but who raises you and loves you and disciplines you, and . . . considering that Loki clings so hard to the title of ‘Odinson’, I would hope that he understands this just as much as any other living person. He’s Odin’s son, blood be damned!

“Do you know our eldest is not our biological child? We thought I was infertile, so we adopted a small girl from an orphanage on the outskirts of town, and . . . and the first time I held her, I _knew_ she was my daughter! I taught her everything, from how to use the toilet to how to wield a sword, and I was there for every major mile stone, from her first words to her first child. I would fight anyone – _anyone_ – that denies me my parentage of my love.

“To say that this is not incest feels an insult to my daughter and to Loki, as if the ties that bind us are any lesser or are more trivial, and – well – there is a _reason_ why the law forbids even adopted relationships. It’s not just about inbreeding, but about potentially abusing one’s position of trust and authority over another, and about sacred bonds never to be broken.”

“Mother did say we must relinquish our brotherhood,” said Loki.

“Can you relinquish such a bond?” Volstagg shook his head. “You may get Odin to disown you, so that no legal ties bind you, but you will still be _brothers_ to those that know you. If two strangers fell in love only to discover a biological tie, it would still be incest, and if two brothers are found to have no biological tie, it would still be incest. It is about emotional _or_ biological connections, as such I’m . . . I’m struggling to process events.”

Volstagg reached out for a mug of mead. It was sat on a low table beside the sofa, with beads of condensation rolling down the pewter, and – with another sigh – he took the mug and downed the contents, before slamming it back down onto the tabletop. The lines on his forehead deepened and moved like tides, as his expression constantly shifted and changed, but there was no means of discerning his opinion through his façade. He soon looked to both Loki and Thor, as he nodded towards them with a half-smile that was odd on his lips.

“I need some time, too, my friends,” said Volstagg.

Thor let loose a hiss of breath, as the child kicked or punched. He dropped a hand to the swollen stomach and narrowed his gaze at the distended skin, while his nostrils flared and his head shook from side to side, and – with a genuine smile – nodded back to Volstagg and pointed towards the unborn child with a stiff finger wagging in the air, while Volstagg chuckled and mock toasted the child with his mug. Thor laughed and shook his head.

“We do not have much time,” said Thor.

“That is true,” said Fandral. “The baby is due in around a month! If none of us can agree on matters, I do worry what the Allfather will say bout the whole issue. Do – Do you think it can wait a little longer or is this something you _must_ tell him before the baby comes? I hate to sound harsh, but we did think the last Odinsleep would be his last and –”

“I am _not_ waiting until his death. This baby will come whether we wish to delay matters or not, and I cannot raise them alone without Loki by my side, while I also would not deny my – . . . my _partner_ the opportunity to be acknowledged as his son’s father.”

“Ah, that is true. I apologise for such a suggestion.”

“No, I can understand,” said Thor.

Thor reached back for Loki’s hand. He squeezed it tight, enough to crush the knuckles together with a slight stab of pain, before he let go and muttered an apology about the force of the kicks as of late, and Loki – with a sigh – raised his hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the rough skin with a smile. A loud huff emitted from Sif, while Volstagg loudly cleared his throat. Fandral simply laughed. Thor pulled away with a blush, as he muttered an apology, and Loki held his breath to see Sif and Volstagg both smile with sincerity. Sif asked:

“Can you give us some time to think about matters, Thor?”

“Of course,” whispered Thor. “I understand.”

“It’s just – It’s just a lot to take in,” continued Volstagg. “I wouldn’t want to make promises that I couldn’t keep, while I also don’t want to say anything I don’t mean, and – well – I will still always think of you both as friends, but I also need to know how I feel about this incestuous union before I can promise nothing has changed.”

“We still do love you, Thor,” promised Sif. “I think even Hogun will come around, but he has never been one to properly express his emotions. I would also personally like to speak with the Allmother to help gain another perspective. You have had centuries to ponder this.”

“A bit of a head start on us, eh? We’re a bit behind.”

Tears pricked at Thor’s eyes, as he nodded with a smile. Fandral was already on his feet, while he fiddled around with mugs and plates, and – in his attempt to tidy up – Volstagg uttered a cry of complaint and snatched a chicken leg from an escaping bowl, before a brief argument ensued and Sif uttered a sarcastic comment from the sidelines. It was as if nothing had changed, which gave hope that perhaps their friendship would still remain.

“Thank you, my friends,” whispered Thor.

Sif fell silent with a blush, while Volstagg paused with chicken to mouth. They both shared a look with a slight nod, before Fandral furrowed his brow and looked between them with a raised eyebrow, and – rolling his eyes – he continued to fuss about the lounge, as he sought to clean in an attempt to remain busy and distracted. Volstagg soon turned to Thor and whispered that he would support him, while Sif only criticised his taste in men mainly in jest, and it was Loki’s turn to roll his eyes at such a comment. Fandral hummed and stood still.

“In the meantime,” said Fandral. “Why not come watch me spar? I would rather like to take on Loki as an opponent, maybe get out some of this aggression, and you always do offer the best tips and advice. Loki will still win, of course, but another thing that hasn’t changed, eh? I don’t know what the future will hold, but _ergi_ or not . . . you’re my friend.”

“Funny how being _ergi_ meant more than an incestuous union,” teased Loki.

“Funny how you inherited Odin’s sense of secrecy.”

Fandral smirked with his hands on his hips. A strong stab of discomfort struck at Loki’s chest, as his breath came out in short pants and his lips ran dry, and – on the mention of such family secrets – he lunged forward only to be pulled back by Thor. Loki fell back onto the sofa, while Thor cast him a dark glare as a silent warning, but Fandral could only burst into laughter and give a melodramatic bow in Loki’s direction. Fandral stood upright once more, before jerking his head towards the windows with an obvious wink, as he chirped:

“If I annoyed you, come show me in the training yard.”

Loki swallowed the forming lump in this throat, as he tried not to get his hopes up that this was a sign that the friendship was not yet ruined by the incestuous union, and yet – as he slowly stood to his feet – a heavy fatigue swept over his form. He bowed his head and strove to maintain a smile, as Thor appeared finally content with tears borne in his eyes from sheer happiness that some friends remained. Loki smiled to Fandral, ready to take his offer.  

“With pleasure,” said Loki.


	12. Chapter 12

_'I would not mind a ride.’_

_The laughter echoed through the hallway. Thor stopped behind a pillar; two men stood before a far doorway, only a short distance from the audience chamber, and both were dressed in expensive cloths that denoted a high status. He paused in the shadows, while the two men leaned close to one another and gesticulated. They had yet to notice him, although the way one shook his head – and made a gesture of a large stomach – made it clear that Thor was the subject of conversation. He swallowed hard and exhaled slow._

_‘He is a prince,’ replied one._

_‘Yes, but he is also an_ ergi _,’ said the other. ‘If he is willing to spread his legs for one man, he would surely be willing to spread his legs for another! I wonder if he even knows the identity of the father, as why else this need for secrecy? I hope that Loki is given the throne. I can abide a Jotun king, but how can I abide a king obsessed with sex?’_

 _‘My cousin once told me that an_ ergi _is just like anyone else. They say that it is merely about a love for another man and not a perversion, but . . . well . . . perhaps you are right. Why else would he not reveal the father? Was he raped? Is his partner a criminal?’_

_‘Who knows? It is the child that I pity. It deserves better.’_

_‘The other father could prove a good influence . . .’_

_Thor dropped his hands onto his stomach. He screwed shut his eyes, as he thought to how his son would be treated . . . pity, contempt, mockery . . . a sharp kick struck at his side, as he winced and pressed a hand to the footprint through the fabric, and he knew that only Loki would be taken seriously as the father. The people would override him. The servants would not listen to him. He would merely be the incubator, once respected and now reviled, and they would fear he would pass his “perversion” onto the child. One man muttered:_

_‘At least the other has a shred of decency.’_

_The two men grumbled and walked away, each one making comments that would bring laughter from the other, and soon they vanished like shadows into a distant room, where a pair of servants passed with smiles and giggles at their words. Thor fell back against the pillar. A choked laugh escaped his lips, as he shook his head with a tear. The clenched fist at his side turned his knuckles white, until – with a shuddered sigh – he unclenched and let the tension drain from his arms and dropped them limp without a sound._

_The words of Sif rang in his ears: “it will take time to change minds”. He slowly pushed himself away from the wall and stalked forward with back hunched, while he caught the gazes and comments from those that passed him, and no complaints would change their opinions, but only cause Odin or Loki to punish them and instigate further resentment. The palace was not a welcome place for an_ ergi _. Thor blinked back his tears._

_* * *_

It was warm.

Helblindi smiled, as he shielded his eyes with a hand. The sun was bright through a cloudless sky, with the sunbeams a gentle comfort on his skin, and – for the first time in his life – furs were shunned and only the leather loin-cloth was worn for modesty and protection. A strong aroma was emitted by the flowers, while the grass underneath was a green unlike anything seen in Jotunheim, and the petals and leaves were so soft against his limbs.

He crouched down and picked a small red flower. It leaked a small amount of sap from the stem, while Steinn sat cross-legged not far from the flowerbeds, and the book in his hands provided a regular rustling noise of flipping pages. A low sigh escaped Helblindi’s lips, as he walked across to Steinn and knelt down with a handkerchief drawn to wipe at his brow. Steinn grumbled and tried to bat away his hand. Two red eyes never left the words on the page, all Jotun in nature and none Asgardian, and Helblindi said with a strained smile:

“This is the land of your ancestors.”

Steinn furrowed his brow, before gently closing his book. A pair of servants stood in the distance with a few whispers behind their raised hands, while they narrowed their eyes with an expression of concentration, and yet no cruel words or gestures were sent in their direction, while they would smile and wave any time their eyes were caught. Steinn traced a blue finger over the letters on the front cover, while his teeth bit into the corner of his lip, and – as he visibly swallowed – his discomfort in these strange realms was made clear.

The shade was not enough to properly cool his skin. Helblindi raised a hand and pressed the back to his forehead, before – with a frown – calling one of the servants to retrieve some ice, and pulled Steinn inside one of the kitchens on the far side of the gardens. The staff scattered like insects in all directions, effectively giving them free reign of the servants’ quarters, until a young girl dashed to their side with a large bowl of ice chips.

“I really hate this heat,” mumbled Steinn.

“That’ll be your Jotun form.” Helblindi brought ice to his skin. “It makes me wonder how Loki and Odin stand this climate in so many layers, but – well – I’m not going to criticise fashion over function. I hardly take pride in my true form either. You may experience some racism in these parts, by the way. Your father _did_ warn you about that, yes?”

“He warned me you might underestimate the racism, Uncle.”

“Oh, did he now?” Helblindi rolled his eyes. “These are not bad people, Steinn. You will see that many of the older ones remember the friends and lovers long lost, while the younger ones look at us with curiosity, as they haven’t yet been . . . indoctrinated into racism. It’s something learnt; no one is born to hate another, as it’s not our natural state to hate.

“Still, be prepared to hear cold words. There are many that think of us as something exotic, although I pray that won’t be the case with you, and the rest think of us as barbarians, always looking for a fight that you must never give to them! If one raises his hand, you raise only a shield. These are a warrior race. They seek for reasons to justify their resentment, as opposed to having reasons for their resentment. Don’t so much as raise your voice, okay?”

Steinn glanced to the servant. Helblindi furrowed his brow and pouted, until – following his gaze – he realised what was silently being conveyed: these were not like Jotun servants. He heaved a low hiss of breath, before snatching more ice from the bowl and running it over blue skin with a purse of his lips, and he held the ice against blue skin until it ran liquid over Steinn’s flesh and soaked into the fabric of his loin cloth. The sweat on his forehead was already fading away, while red eyes grew more curious and Steinn grew more expressive.

A second wave of his hand dismissed the servant, as he lifted Steinn up onto a kitchen counter and sat him there with a warm smile, and – as Steinn swung his legs and hummed an old tune – Helblindi pressed a kiss to his head and moved to a nearby sink. He ran cold water onto a clean cloth, when a knock came at the door and someone appeared in his peripheral vision. He froze. The _seiðr_ brimmed and bristled in instinct, until a voice called:

“Prince Helblindi?”

He stayed still, but cast an eye toward the feminine voice. A hand covertly slid its way over a knife in the sink, where it lay ready to be washed with other items, as he dropped the wet cloth over to hide it from sight, but – as he looked – his grip softened and his heart tightened in his chest. The woman in the doorway was beautiful. He noted the leather skirt and thick tights, ready to supply movement and protection in battle, with long black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that was elegant and practical. He cleared his throat and smiled.

“I am _King_ Helblindi,” whispered Helblindi.

“Apologies, your highness,” said Sif. “I was told to escort you to Prince Loki.”

“Oh, I’m sure my brother can wait just a little while. Do you know that this is my first time in Asgard? I would be most appreciative of a guide throughout the city . . . the museums, the architecture, the galleries . . . so much history to be explored! I’m sure there is even a small inn where we might try the local cuisine, too. Can you recommend a place?”

“Here I assumed Thor’s flirtatious nature came from his Asgardian side.” Sif rolled her eyes. “You may be subtle, but your expression betrays your intent. Loki asked you here due to his emotional distress; I would thus not recommend any distractions or dalliances during your visit, especially as he already feels isolated and conflicted. I would also recommend leaving Steinn with a few friends of mine, as I do not wish for Loki to frighten the child.

“Thor is watching Fandral and Volstagg train. It will be educational for Steinn to see Asgardian battle techniques firsthand, as well as gain some experience with our culture, and he will be in no better hands. If you worry about their influence, Queen Frigga has also expressed a desire to spend time with her great-nephew. If he would prefer to instead learn about etiquette, history, and _seiðr,_ then he could ask for no better teacher.”

“Well, I’ll leave the choice to your discretion.” Helblindi bowed with a blush. “My brother is my greatest concern, especially if things are so bad that you’d think Steinn better off elsewhere . . . they have such an excellent relationship! It worries me that he’d be in such a state that he would want Steinn anywhere except for his side. Take me to Loki, please?”

“Allow me to have Steinn taken to the Allmother first,” said Sif.

Helblindi allowed his eyes to wander, as Sif turned and allowed a servant entrance. The young man was dressed in fine white robes, very unlike the uniform of the guards, and – with a raise of his hand – he signalled for the servant to stop. A pale face and trembling hand betrayed the fear of the servant, while Sif simply cocked her head to the side, and the long expanse of neck was enough to capture his interest for a brief second, until he locked eyes with her and flared his nostrils. He folded his arms and held his head high.

“I would rather a guard escort my nephew,” said Helblindi.

Sif looked him over. A smile crossed her lips, as she shook her head and called for a guard, and – only after a brief examination from Helblindi – Steinn was finally allowed to jump down and follow the armed man throughout the palace corridors. He followed Steinn close behind, until they could follow no further without being greatly mislaid, and he stopped with a clenching of his jaw when he saw Frigga appear in the distance with a smile. He pleaded:

“And you are _sure_ Steinn will be okay?”

A hand dropped onto his shoulder. Helblindi jumped, as he instinctively yanked away and spun around with a curled lip, and – spotting the raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes – Helblindi blushed and lowered his guard. He bowed his head and followed Sif. The path toward Loki’s rooms was familiar, but still he cast glances behind him to make certain Steinn was still safe and well with the queen. Sif nudged him with her elbow, but it was difficult to tell whether by accident or by intent. He half-smiled and stood tall as possible.

“Long are the days when we would slaughter the heirs of our enemies,” said Sif. “I will admit that my feelings towards the Jotun are complicated, as must yours must be in turn, but I can promise you that no harm will befall Steinn within these palace walls. I swear on my honour.”

“My father used to say that the Asgardians had no honour.”

“Your father never met Lady Sif of Asgard.”

Helblindi laughed and followed her lead. The lengthy hallways twisted and turned, until they finally darkened and revealed a small nest of guards, while – at each and every doorway – two guards would stand on either side at full attention. It was eerie as always to be within the private quarters of the royal family, even as he suspected the heightened security was in response to the Jotun presence. No sound was made aside from their footsteps.

A servant strolled past with head low, as they whispered out: _‘apologies, Prince Loki’_. Sif coughed and choked on the air itself, caught between laughter and excuses, but – with a blush – Helblindi simply responded with an offhand comment as the servant passed. A joke about ‘we must all look alike’ died on his lips, as he saw a guard escort the servant away with weapon drawn. He tightened his fists and clenched his jaw. Even as they stopped before a set of grand doors, Sif warned that the servant would be punished for any offence caused.

He was unable to argue.

The doors were flung open to reveal a room in disarray. Helblindi swallowed hard, as his stomach rolled and his skin ran cold, but – as he strove to maintain a façade of disinterest – a spark of _seiðr_ filled the air around the debris. A scattered pile of papers lay strewn across the floor, while several mirrors and glasses lay broken in shards over various surfaces, and each step caused a creak or a snap of splinters underfoot. The room was dark and shadows made difficult to see the cause of the chaos. A movement betrayed the occupant.

Helblindi slowly made his way to Loki, who sat hunched over against a far wall. A thick fur blanket was draped over his shoulders, while he sat in old pyjamas that appeared stained with blood in various places along the legs, and his thick hair fell like a curtain about his face. It took a few silent gestures for Sif to quickly run to fetch a bowl of water, while he feigned a smile and lifted Loki’s feet into his lap to pick out the glass pieces. Helblindi whispered:

“Loki? Loki, are you okay?”

Sif gently placed the bowl beside him. He nodded his gratitude, before he attempted to cleanse the wounds strewn across blue soles, but Loki would wince and writhe with tears in his eyes, until – with knitted brows – Sif crouched down and reached for his shoulders. The touch was hesitant, as she pulled away at first with a wince, but soon she held him with a forced smile and a gentle nod. He rolled his head back and forth, unable to focus.

“He – He will hate me,” choked Loki.

Helblindi cast his eye to Sif, but she simply shook her head. There was something greater at play, while the cuts on those blue feet at least proved superficial and straight, and Helblindi sighed to see that they were not intentionally slashed into flesh. The clear water ran nearly black onto the carpet beneath his feet, while Loki babbled aimlessly incoherent phrases in Asgardian too quickly to be understood, and Helblindi sent another look – this time harsher – to Sif, who shrugged with a purse of her lips. _These outbursts were not uncommon_.

“Loki, you must calm down,” said Sif.

“I – I must calm down?” Loki laughed through his tears. “You have _met_ my father, have you not? This is the man that exiled Thor for a mere insult! This is the man that taught his Jotun son to loathe his own race! Why would he react well to this news? That I – I – I made Thor _ergi_ and forced this scandal onto our family. He will disown me . . . exile me . . . hate me . . .

“It is one thing to hate myself, but to have Father hate me, too? We made such progress! He showed me his Jotun form and he spends time in my presence, and – through it all – I have seen him strive to be a better father to me, just as Mother seeks to do better by Thor. He trusts me to spend time in Jotunheim. He trusts me with political delegations. How can I cast that all aside? A-Am I – Am I really to choose between my father and my child?

“Oh God, what if . . . what if he denies me access to my child?” Tears rolled down Loki’s cheeks. “What if I am to be sent to Jotunheim and forbidden from entry into Asgard? We have yet to even decide if – if – if our child shall be Thorson or Lokason, but what if he shall grow with no memory of me . . . no knowledge of me . . . I cannot be that man!”

“That will not happen, Loki,” said Sif. “I swear to you.”

“Can you swear? _Will_ you swear? What happens when I am written out of the history books just as Bestla and Fárbauti before me? Hell, I would likely have never even been told my father’s name had it not been for my time spent on Jotunheim! I – I want to be a father . . . I do not want to abandon my son as Laufey abandoned me, but nor do I want to play favourites or neglect my child as our parents did with us. I – I want . . . I just want to be loved.”

Helblindi pushed the bowl aside. He crawled over to Loki and dropped his illusion, so that he sat by his side in Asgardian form and with pale skin now seeming far more nude by comparison, and he took Loki’s hand and held it tight in his grasp. Sif dried at his feet and pulled the fur tighter about his form, while she cast glances towards the main doors and pursed her lips with small hisses of breath, and soon dropped beside Loki to drop an arm around his shoulders and avoid eye-contact. It was tense and awkward.

“You are loved, Loki,” said Helblindi.

“Am I? I made so many mistakes. I did so much wrong. I –”

“Loki, I have never been your biggest fan,” said Sif. “I would not trust you as far as I can throw you, but – with that said – you are a friend and I would never see you harmed. You will redeem yourself through good actions, but your love for Thor . . . that is not a mistake. I still have mixed feelings on the matter, but I will not let harm come to you.”

“Lady Sif is correct,” continued Helblindi. “I have seen the progress you made with the healers! I have seen how you learned healing _seiðr_. I have seen how you have bonded with our brother and nephew. You are not the monster you believe yourself, Brother.”

“I am inclined to agree with Helblindi. You are no monster.”

“Even if you were, you would still be accepted on Jotunheim! I don’t care if the whole of Asgard turns its back on you, because – as far as I’m concerned – you are more than proving that you have a conscience and the desire to better yourself, and I will never turn my back on you or abandon you. You have my unconditional love, Loki. I can also promise that you will always have a home on Jotunheim, too, even your nursery has been kept in perfect condition.”

Loki laughed and ran his hands over his face. He stared aimlessly at the ceiling, still unaware of the nursery in the palace filled with toys saved by Fárbauti from his childhood and filled with gifts from Helblindi in anticipation of a new sibling, and – while dust had invaded far corners, with parts of the iced furniture melted – everything lay exactly as it had on the day Loki was taken from them. Helblindi squeezed at his hand with eyes stinging with unshed tears, as he stroked at the ridges on his skin with a gentle pat. Loki spat:

“Forgive me, but it is not _your_ rejection that worries me.”

Loki pulled himself to his feet, as he pulled the furs with him. They dragged along the floor, while he stumbled to a nearby sofa and collapsed onto its folds, and Sif – throwing back her head and briefly closing her eyes – revealed a mixture of both disdain and concern, enough that Helblindi furrowed his brow and cast an eye over her and Loki in turn. The relationship appeared too complex and conflicted to define, but he nodded with appreciation as he walked over to Loki and sat at the foot of the sofa with a calm expression and demeanour.

“I cannot see the Allfather hating you, Loki,” said Sif. “The fault is just as much Thor’s; you have also done so much for both realms, and – even at this early stage – I have seen more tolerance and acceptance for the Jotun race than I have in my lifetime to date. You have brought respect with your new form, while the Allfather has changed our laws for the better.

“They may still hate the idea of a man being _ergi_ , but you have proven to them that the Jotuns are not barbarians doomed to attack or kill any man on sight, and instead you have brokered deals and negotiated peace just as you have always done. I still disapprove of a relationship between two biological cousins, but . . . I cannot disapprove of what you have achieved in so little time. Do not doubt your worth as a man, Loki. You do well by all.”

“I’ve been mistaken for you a fair amount,” teased Helblindi. “They have not once been rude to me or looked to me with judgement, which surprised me more than I can express! Do I like the fact that they seem to think all Jotun look alike? Well, no, but I do quite appreciate the fact they have paid me respects even when they have mistaken me for you.”

“But I have _made_ Thor _ergi_ ,” cried Loki.

“Thor consented. He is capable of his own choices! If Steinn were to eat a cake before dinner, do I blame Steinn or the baker? It was Steinn’s choice to break the rules, so it’s only Steinn to blame for the inability to keep some self-restraint, and so why would I blame you for Thor giving into the temptation of Jotun flesh? I have given into temptation once . . . a child was lost, pain was endured, and scandal nearly ensued . . . those mistakes were mine alone.”

Helblindi drew in a sharp breath. He clenched his fists until nails drew blood, only to release his grasp with a forced smile, and slowly brought himself to his feet, before walking over to Loki and sitting on the edge of the sofa. A gentle pull lifted Loki’s head, so that it could be placed on his lap and he could run his fingers through black hair. The soft touch was enough for Loki to close his eyes, while his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed, and Helblindi gave a trembling smile as he shared a look with Sif who smiled back.

“I did not know this,” mumbled Loki.

“My past is my own, but I have endured.” Helblindi nodded low. “I also know that the love of a parent is unconditional. Odin fought me with words and politics to retain his right as your father, even threatening me with war should I push matters, and I know how difficult it was for him to show you his true form. Those were not the actions of a man who places conditions on his love, but the words of one whose love knows no bounds.

“I plan to stay here for a few weeks, so I can be with you should you choose. I’ll even be with you when you make your confession, if you truly think that things will end badly, but I think you underestimate the depths of his love for you. Why don’t we all calm down for today? You can delay your revelation until tomorrow. I’ll let Thor know.”

“How am I supposed to calm down? I – I can’t help but –”

“I have just the very idea,” whispered Helblindi.

A breeze from outside billowed out the shredded curtains, as the landscape beyond revealed a beautiful scene of thousands of buildings and millions of people, and Helblindi blinked back tears as he stroked at Loki’s hair with memories playing in his mind . . . _red blood across white snow, a child lifeless in his arms, bitter regrets at secrets kept . . ._ a loud sigh escaped his lips, as he clapped his hands together and brightly smiled. He quirked his head to the side and winked to Sif, as he strove to hide the slight tremble to his voice.

“Lady Sif promised me a meal in a tavern,” said Helblindi. “A taste of local cuisine! Why don’t you join us, Loki? It can’t be often a prince gets to spend time with his brother and best friend, especially lost in just . . . nothing . . . no stress, no expectations, no pressures, but just sweet nothing. It will do you the world of good. You simply need a day to rest.”

“Wait,” said Sif. “When did I promise you such a thing?”

“Did you forget already? I feel insulted.” Helblindi smiled and shrugged. “You would not insult a king, would you? Here is our Loki . . . depressed, confused, fearful . . . I merely thought it’d be a nice distraction from him to spend some time with loved ones, so that he remembers how loved he truly is in reality, but if you’d rather –”

“If our focus is on Loki, I recommend we remain in these rooms. I shall run Loki a bath, while you can send forth a servant to find Thor, and we shall have some food brought to these rooms and sit for a while in a quiet environment. Loki must be our priority.”

“Loki is always my priority,” said Helblindi.

He sent a cold look to Sif, who matched his look in return. They stared for a minute. The frustration built until both jerked their heads away at the exact moment with a blush, before Helblindi gently extricated himself from Loki and wandered to the doors, where he commanded Thor be brought to the rooms with immediate effect. He soon smiled as he descended on Loki again, where he dropped beside the sofa and rubbed his hand over Loki’s arm, as Sif pulled the furs up to his chin with a few gentle words. Helblindi asked:

“Will you be okay, Brother?”

“I must tell him eventually,” muttered Loki. “I – I will have to tell him, only to see the shame and anger in his expression, as he realises his two sons have committed a crime . . . a sin . . . I cannot hide this from him forever, but I must tell him . . . soon . . .”

Helblindi winced. It was a secret that could not be hidden for much longer, as Thor grew ever larger and closer to birth, and Helblindi struggled to maintain his smile, as he return to stroking at the long locks of hair with soft brushes. The temptation to live the lie was strong, especially if it protected Loki from the fear and conflict, but Helblindi knew the love for his son would prevent Loki from staying in the shadows. Helblindi choked out:

“Yes, you must tell him, Loki . . .”


	13. Chapter 13

_‘Listen to them . . .’_

_Frigga pressed a kiss to his temple. The skin was clammy and cool, not unusual for his Jotun physiology and yet somehow more pronounced, and each breath was raspy as he lay on his back, with a wet and rocky noise at the back of his throat. A terrible churning of her stomach brought bile to her throat, as she realised that they might not see another Odinsleep, and he perhaps had a handful of years left at the very most. It was a thought she pushed down, as she drew in a shuddered breath and remained silent. Odin murmured:_

_‘Can Thor not tell me this alone?’_

_The sheets over his frame exaggerated his changed figure, where there was more weight than muscle, but – as her hands teased at the hem of his nightshirt – he was still attractive and still more chiselled than many men of his years. Every beat of his heart was heavy under the palm of her hand, enough that his fear was betrayed by his body. Frigga pressed another kiss to his temple, then to his cheek, and then to his neck, as he pleaded again:_

_‘What is it that he hides, my love?’_

_‘You know that this is a stressful situation for Thor,’ whispered Frigga. ‘It is not unreasonable to suspect that Loki would wish to be there for support, as he loves his brother more than any other alive, and such support should be encouraged. It is good that they get along so well. Did you not disapprove when they bickered and warred?’_

_‘Aye, but I feel there is something more at play. It is like a secret held on the tip of my tongue, like a fragment of hair, and – though I can feel it – there is nothing I can do that would bring it to light . . . I am aware of its presence, but not of it’s meaning . . .’_

_‘Just promise me you will listen to them without prejudice.’_

_‘I swear to you that I will remain nothing but calm.’_

_The way his body tensed said otherwise. Frigga sighed and rolled onto him, as she sat astride and ran her hands over his chest, and – catching her eyes with a gentle smile – Odin finally relaxed and let his muscles run loose, as he mimed “I love you” with rough lips. The quiet between them lingered soft and comfortable, while he reached up with callused fingers to stroke along her jaw, and together they basked in the simple intimacy. Frigga nuzzled into his hand with tears brewing ready to fall forth. Tomorrow it would all come to light._

_* * *_

“I – I can’t do this,” murmured Loki.

Footsteps echoed through the audience chamber. Loki paced back and forth with head hung low, so that his black hair shadowed his face and hid the tears in his eyes, and he fidgeted with his hands every time he took a quick step over the tiles. He pulled and poked at the skin between thumb and index fingers, until small cuts appeared and dark blood bubbled forth on blue flesh. Thor swallowed hard and marched toward Loki. He held him.

He wrapped both hands around Loki’s toned upper arms; distance was kept between them by the large swell of his stomach, but Thor pulled Loki as close as possible, until their stomachs touched and he was able to gently cusp the back of his neck. Loki half-smiled through his tears, as he reached to hold the hand in turn and let loose a shuddered breath. The brief silence was a small comfort. Thor ran his fingers over cool skin, while locking eyes with Loki and maintaining a steady smile, and Loki soon regained control of his breath.

Sif took a seat not far from them, where the leather creaked, and Helblindi sat close beside her in Asgardian form, as he edged closer and closer until Sif frowned. He paused with an innocent smile. Thor sighed with a soft smile; both friends provided a necessary distraction, along with a grounding presence and great support, and he nodded to them with a smile, before pulling Loki toward him and kissing his forehead. He whispered:

“It will be okay, Loki.”

Loki laughed. It was broken and low, almost lost for its volume, but – as he pulled back – tears were finally gone from his eyes. He shrugged and stepped back, as he gently pulled Thor’s hands from his form, and soon he cast red eyes from person to person, as if in search of an answer that refused to follow. Thor allowed his hands to linger. They remained in the air for a long few seconds, until he let them drop at his sides. A cool breeze swept through the balcony, catching at Loki’s hair, as Loki asked in a quiet voice:

“ _How_ will this be okay?”

“Helblindi and Mother accepted our relationship,” said Thor. “Sif and Fandral offered their full support, and even Volstagg has come to promise to remain our friend. It – It is only Hogun who still struggles to understand, but five out of six is not _that_ bad, yes? I will not lie and say this will be easy, but I am sure he will still offer unconditional love.”

“When has he _ever_ offered unconditional love? I don’t care what you and Helblindi have to say on the matter, because the fact is that _you_ never lived with the constant fear of always being second-best, of always being the spare, of always being . . . _Loki_. . .”

“Don’t do that, Loki. Don’t make your name into an insult.”

“Why not? It will soon be an insult from his lips. Who was it that made the first move? Who was it that first confessed? I was the one with a lingering crush, Thor. It was me who sneaked into your rooms, just as it was me who made you an _ergi_ , and it was me who . . . who impregnated you and brought all this to light. Who else will he blame?”

Thor ran his hands over his face. He struggled to hold back the bile at the back of his throat, as his heart pounded loud in his ears, and the smile on his lips struggled to stay strong, as he thought over Loki’s words. The guards stood to full attention. Thor bit into his lip to see how they remained rigid and with eyes cast ahead, while the clink and clatter of their armour echoed about the chambers. There was not long left to offer reassurance.

“There is no blame, Loki,” whispered Thor.

The doors finally creaked open. Odin stood in full armour; every part shone in the sun from outside, sending occasional afterimages burning on retinas, and he stood tall with a smile on his lips, as he clearly strove to show how important the conversation was to come. It was an attempt to give it both severity and sincerity, as he expressed himself the only way that came naturally to a politician first and foremost, and Thor smiled with a bow of his head.  Odin marched towards him and clasped a hand on his shoulder with a firm hold.

“My sons,” said Odin. “You wished to speak with me?”

Odin turned and summoned Loki forward, before gripping his shoulder in turn. He was oblivious to how Loki paled and stood with parted lips, while Thor swallowed hard in a desire to provide some comfort that could not be covertly given, and so Thor angled his body toward Loki and placed a hand on his upper back. The touch was enough for him to relax his muscles and let loose a low breath. A touch of colour returned to his cheeks. Thor found some strength, as he forced a smile and turned to Odin to say in a firm voice:

“I wanted to discus my child’s parentage.”

Odin nodded, before signalling them to sit down. Loki trembled where he stood, enough that – while subtle – Thor could not sit and allow him to stand alone, and so Odin simply quirked an eyebrow and took a few steps back to give them some space. The breeze picked up some speed, as the drapes billowed out not far beyond Helblindi and Sif. Helblindi leaned back with hands tented before him, while his head tilted and eyes locked on Odin with a stern gaze, and he remained silent although attentive. Odin huffed and waved a hand.

“I am simply surprised that you waited this long,” confessed Odin. “I know I have been strict with you over the years, while I may not have reacted well to the idea of you being with child, but you must realise that I will not think any less of you for lying with a commoner. If your partner were a woman, I am sure nothing would be said of such a union. It is time we attempt to tackle such prejudices toward _ergi_ men. I will allow no one to slight you.”

“My – My partner is no commoner,” said Thor.

“You once told me that your partner is Jotun, yes? I cannot see Helblindi or Býleistr engaging in such a union with one they call cousin, but nor can I recall any other members of the royal family or nobility that would be eligible or suitable to your established types. Fie, do not allow me to guess! I fear we shall be here for an eternity if that is the case.

“I must confess an element of curiosity, however. I was under the impression that the Jotun race was unable to travel off-world due to the confiscation of the Casket, and – while we will make arrangements for this to be returned – I know that no Asgardian has laid foot on Jotun soil until your breach of their borders before your intended coronation. I am right, Helblindi, that no Jotun has set foot outside of Jotunheim until recent months?”

“Well, excluding the few guards my father allowed into your treasury,” chirped Helblindi. “I was rather against that from the start; frankly, it didn’t take a genius to work out the boy _precisely_ the age of our lost sibling . . . same hair, same name . . . was in fact our said sibling, but then I suppose Father daren’t bring himself to hope. It would have destroyed him.”

“He wasn’t wrong about that,” muttered Sif.

“Oh, your humour is so dark,” chided Helblindi. “I love it!”

Sif rolled her eyes, while Helblindi smirked at her side. The light-hearted banter was enough to bring choked laughter to Loki, until he caught himself mid-sound and threw his hand over his mouth with trembling lips, and – returning to his pacing – he kept his head low and his eyes watered. Odin furrowed his brow and glanced from face to face, while cogs turned in his head and strange sounds were emitted, as if caught between a chuckle and a snarl. He turned to Thor and waved an arm in circles, as he asked in a curious tone:

“So what Jotun could have possibly –?”

 _Realisation dawned_. The colour drained from his face. He cast an eye to Loki, who froze dead in his tracks, and – as Loki slowly turned – their gazes locked and something broke . . . Odin stepped back. He shook his head. He fisted his hands. Tears rose again to Loki’s eyes, as he stumbled back and grasped at a pillar for support, as his legs gave way and he pushed his body flush against the marble to prevent from sliding down onto the floor.

“Tell me it is not true,” begged Odin. “It cannot be true.”

“I am sorry, Father,” whispered Thor.

Odin laughed low and deep. The lines on his face deepened, as he paced with hands tented over his mouth, and – as he breathed slowly through his fingers – he turned and stopped before Sif and Helblindi. He pointed a trembling finger towards each of them in turn, as his lips pursed into a tight line of pure white. Sif immediately stood. The bow was deep enough to hide her face entirely from sight, as she expressed her greatest respect, but Helblindi remained seated . . . he folded his legs, he smirked . . . Odin asked with a snarl:

“Did you both know?”

“Aye, my king,” said Sif. “I was told some days previous.”

“I _knew_ from roughly the four-month mark,” added Helblindi. “I _suspected_ from when I first learned of the pregnancy from Thor, but they both have the full resources and support of Jotunheim at their disposal, and I shall not turn my back upon my brother and another of my heirs. It is no secret my celibacy to date has left only my nephews to inherit.”

“So you would allow this incestuous union merely for your convenience?” Odin scoffed. “I have heard rumour you have lost a child? It seems that you have more half-truths spill from your lips than our resident lie-smith, and – _ah_ – what lies Loki has told this time!”

“I – I have told _no_ lies, Father,” pleaded Loki.

“No? Then what is _that_ residing in your brother’s stomach?”

Odin spun around and pointed to Thor. It was a violent gesture that clicked the joints of his armour, while he bent forward and stormed toward Loki, until – as Loki slipped away from the pillar in a desperate attempt to break away – he was forced against a far wall, until there was nowhere else to run. Loki raised his hands high in a gesture of surrender, as Odin stood before him and leaned into his personal space with reddened cheeks.

“I – I can – I can explain,” choked Loki.

Thor wrapped his hands around his stomach; several kicks appeared at his side, until he feared there were not enough hands to brace the impact from the barrage, and he drew in a shuddered breath as his stress appeared only to aggravate their unborn son. He walked over to Loki as fast as he was able, but each step was hindered by the sheer weight and size from his pregnant state. Loki turned his head to stare at some far point. Odin was leaning so far into him that the act was one of intimidation. When Odin spoke, spit flew from his lips.

“Oh, you can explain?” Odin shook his head. “Can you explain how you committed the act of incest with your brother? Can you explain what led you to betray all familial ties and alliances with an act of barbaric carnality? Can you explain how you would _decimate_ our family tree with one mere explosion of lust? Here I thought better of you, Loki!”

“I – I _love_ Thor,” cried Loki. “I have only ever acted in his best interests. Do I look as if I have acted from lust alone? There . . . There has been no one else! I – I have only been with Thor since . . . s-since we were teenagers. I am no monster . . . no predator . . .”

“Are you not? I believed you were different, Loki. I believed that you proved the Jotun race was as diverse as the Asgardian race, while – for the first time in my life – I saw the Jotun part of myself as something less than intolerable, but . . . no . . . you let your Jotun side win out over your rationality and self-restraint. You engaged in carnal acts of depravity.

“Tell me, does it please you to see Thor in this condition? _He has endured more than you could know_! I have had to punish servants for their insults. I have had to defend him to nobles with loose tongues. I have seen him hang his head in shame, unable to fight or train or defend realms lost to chaos thanks to _your_ destruction of the Bifrost, and all the while you were the cause. You were the one to drag him down with your immoral practises!”

Odin slammed his fist onto the wall. It was inches beside Loki’s head, sending plaster fluttering down onto the leather pads of his coat, and – as Loki flinched – Helblindi was already on his feet with a flicker of _seiðr_ spinning through the air, until Thor felt weak.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He propped a hand on a nearby pillar, as he strove for balance and breathed slow in a search for oxygen. Sif struggled to push Helblindi back and whispered cool words to him, while Loki panted and gasped and stuttered.

The fear was evident on Loki’s expression. He was always fragile around Odin, afraid to lose the love of his father and hopeful to regain trust long lost, and now the tears built at the corners of his eyes, as he strove not to weep before anyone but Thor. Thor let out a hiss of breath. He stumbled forward and stopped not far from Loki’s side, but Loki had already screwed shut his eyes and flared his nostrils as a tear fled down his cheek.

“I _love_ Thor,” murmured Loki.

“You have a funny way of showing such love,” spat Odin. “In the space of six months you have committed wanton acts of genocide and blasphemous acts of incest, but do you know what else you have wrought upon our family? I have lost a child before. I have lost a child as Sif has lost a child, as Helblindi claims to have lost a child . . . now I am to lose one more.

“How can this act of incest go unpunished? Am I to allow my people to view this as normal? I cannot change such laws to make such acts legal . . . inbreeding, abuse of power . . . I cannot harm my popular by repealing a law designed to protect the people! I also cannot allow it to go unpunished. Who would obey the law if they believe themselves exempt?” Odin laughed through tears. “Am I to disown you? Am I to cast you into Jotunheim?

 “Is that what Helblindi wanted all along? I can imagine him waiting for the truth to be known, so that he may steal you away into his clutches, but . . . this crime was one you committed long before you knew of his existence or he of yours. Am I to lose my son to spare him the dungeons? Am I to keep my son and cast him away out of all sight?”

Odin stepped back. He raked an eye over Loki, who was still pressed against the wall as if in the midst of an attack, and Odin simply shook his head with a curl of his lip, as he turned his back on the son whose lips trembled along with his hands. Helblindi was bent so far forward that he appeared he might lunge for Odin, while Sif held him back with a mere press of his hand, and Thor could only ignore the potential upcoming disaster. He darted to Loki. He was barely at his side when Odin turned . . . cheeks pale, eye cast low . . .

“You have ruined our family,” whispered Odin.

The reaction was instant. Loki threw open his eyes wide, as he snapped his head toward Odin, and – with lips closing and parting without word – tears fell freely from his eyes down his cheeks, until they rolled from his chin onto the floor below. Loki ran. Odin screwed his eyes shut, while fighting tears that threatened to build, and neither made eye-contact as Loki raced towards the hallway and slammed shut the doors behind. The echo lingered . . .

Thor swallowed hard, as his ears rang from the volume. He turned to follow, but stopped when he saw Helblindi sprinting forward with a graceful gait in pursuit, while Sif – bowing low – followed him in turn with a muttered apology towards their ruler. A spark of terror caused Thor’s stomach to roll hard; acid burned the back of his throat, while his chest ached with a sharp pain, and he panted for breath as their son kicked hard. He lowered his hands to each side, as he pressed firm in an attempt to comfort their unborn child.

“Loki,” cried Thor. “Wait, please!”

Thor strode forward, but Odin snatched at his wrist. It was a firm hold, enough that it would have bruised a lesser man, but Tor yanked back his hand and returned it to his stomach, as he stared hard at the doors and watched as Sif vanished from sight. There was no way to catch up with Loki in his current state, while another kick struck hard under his ribcage, and – with a roared ‘ _fuck’_ – he jerked his head and bounced his fists at his side. It was his turn to pace, as he snarled and ran a hand through his hair. Odin muttered:

“Let him go, Thor.”

The guards stayed still at the doors. There was no indication of their reactions, but word would be no doubt spread around the palace before sunset, and Thor fought for breath as another dizzy spell cast his rage to a lesser priority, as he stumbled towards a nearby pillar. He pressed both hands to the marble and bent forward, while nausea bubbled inside and vomit threatened to spill from his lips. It was difficult to breathe. Thor forced slow and deep breaths, while attempting to swallow back the bile, but the adrenaline still coursed.

“You act as if the crime is Loki’s alone,” spat Thor.

“He is the one who penetrated you!”

“Aye, just as you penetrated Mother, but is she any less a willing participant? If you claim to want to change things for _argy_ men, maybe start by not treating us as less capable of consent than any other man or woman alive! I may have chosen to be receptive, but that is _not_ the same as being passive! I moaned. I bucked. I _instigated_.”

“Thor, please, this is most inappropriate. You –”

“No, you listen to me!” Thor jabbed a finger towards Odin. “You can be angry at our act of incest, just as Hogun and Volstagg were angry! You can disown us, just as Hogun came to disown us! You _cannot_ lay all blame on Loki for what was a consensual act between two equals, because all you do is imply that the receptive partner is less mentally capable.

“Do you think less of me now? Do you think me incapable of fighting back? This was not rape! I am _proud_ to be an _ergi_ , because I am not ashamed of my love for Loki or regretful of the son borne solely from love. If you blame Loki alone, it is because you think me weak and that he should have been the one responsible as the stronger party. _I am not weak_! I am Thor Odinson, brother of Loki Odinson, and I will not apologise for my love.”

“I will not allow you to continue this union, Thor.”

“You have no choice,” spat Thor. “If Loki will not disown his parents, or you will not disown Loki, then I will abdicate as prince and claim my citizenship as a Jotun. I have the same blood of Bestla in my veins. I will live as Loki’s consort if I must, while hiding in Jotunheim away from your wrath, and you will see neither of us again. Just watch me.”

Thor pushed away from the pillar. A cold sweat overtook his skin, enough that a check with Eir would be necessary after the stress and panic, and he ran his hands over his face where tears fell wet against his fingers. He pulled back his hands, before he dropped them to his side with a loud sniff. Odin shook his head. No words were exchanged, as Thor calculated how many furs would be need to journey to Jotunheim, until Odin warned:

“Thor, think about what you say before it goes too far.”

A low laugh escaped Thor, as Odin touched his shoulder with a firm grasp. He jerked away and cast a dark gaze over Odin, who still would not meet his gaze, and he stepped back with a shake of his head, until he was walking towards the door with no further word. The guards failed to salute him as he waited for them to open the doors. He waited. It took time to realise that the doors would not be opened for him, not as an _ergi_ known to have committed incest, and a small cough from Odin was what it took for them to commit their basic duty.

“It has already gone too far,” whispered Thor.

He marched through the doorway. The doors were shut behind him, as the loud click echoed through the cool air and sounded a new barrier between father and sons, and Thor simply kept his head low and marched with a groan of pain toward their chambers. He prepared a mental list of places to check . . . _gardens, training yard, library . . ._ Thor swallowed back his concern, as he strove to remain calm. Loki needed him for support.

Loki awaited him.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Loki was silent.

He sat alone in the cold depths of the palace. The kitchens in Jotunheim were far different to those in Asgard, often cast far to the side of the overall building, and the arched stone ceilings – in often circular rooms – contained small holes for smoke and scents. A low fire simmered central, with several pots balanced above with rich meats bubbling away, and the windows all around overlooked the beautiful snowy gardens beyond. It was a unique sight.

Thor saw the covers set up to protect crops, while most vegetables grew deep underground, and Agnar currently knelt with swollen stomach on the snow, as he handed various crops to Steinn with a small smile. It was no surprise that Steinn returned. Even if Loki had not thought to collect him, Helblindi would certainly not have left him. He would sometimes spin around – with basket in hands – simply to glance through the windows and stare at Thor, who would wave back with a trembling hand. Steinn would smile and nod.

A strange silence descended throughout the kitchen, as Thor walked over to Loki. He was hunched over on a wooden stool before a table carved from ice, although a fur had been thrown over the table in expectation of Thor, so that the cold temperature would not burn his flesh or stick to his skin. Loki would not meet his gaze. He sat still in full formal attire, with black hair fallen about his face to shadow his cheeks, and he played with his hands held low on his lap, where he fidgeted with a familiar awkwardness to every gesture.

Býleistr stood behind Loki. He kept a large hand clasped on his shoulder, until Thor finally took a seat beside him and reached for those hands, and – as fingers entwined – Býleistr let loose a low sigh and stepped toward the main hall. Loki made no sign of acknowledgement. If he knew that Thor arrived, or that Býleistr left, it was absent from those red eyes that stared aimlessly at a spot on the stone floors slicked over with ice in places from the wind above.

“I’ll give you both some privacy,” whispered Býleistr.  

Thor waited, as Býleistr stepped through the archway. He watched as the tall Jotun joined his growing family, where he knelt behind Agnar and wrapped his arms around growing stomach, as he buried his mouth into the crook of that long neck. Thor smiled to see how Agnar laughed, while no one – no guards, no nobleman, not even their son – made any judgements about their intimacies or public affections. They were both men, but both happy together.  

Loki still made no sound. Thor brought both cool hands to his lips, where he pressed kisses on kisses to the ridges of flesh, and soon kissed his way up his forearm, until he slid from the stool and half-bent before Loki to press a kiss to a soft pair of lips. The taste of tears was still strong. Thor ran his hands over tear-streaked cheeks, as he choked back a broken laugh, and – with eyes watering in turn – knelt before Loki and held his hands tight between them. It was enough to ground him. The cool touch kept him centred with Loki as his world.

“You left without me,” said Thor.

A shuddered breath escaped him. He raised a hand to run through black locks of hair, with the silky smooth touch that ran through his fingers like water, and yet a few strands were matted with sweat and caught with a few specks of dirt, as if he wandered for too long outside in the harsh climes. Loki let his lips tremble. He was pursing and biting at them with some speed, as his eyes rapidly blinked and a lump formed in his throat. Thor swore:

“I will never leave you, Loki.”

The dam broke. Loki burst into tears, as he slid from his stool. He dropped onto the stone tiles and collapsed into Thor’s arms, with his head rested on the large stomach, and Thor – lips parted in search of words – simply continued to stroke at soft hair. Loki clung to the hem of his shirt, with knuckles turning white under the pressure. It was enough weight to knock Thor onto his buttocks, as he parted his legs wide to accommodate both Loki and their unborn child, and his hands trembled as he struggled to breathe in his growing panic.

“Loki, please,” pleaded Thor. “You must say something.”

“Why must I say something?”

“Helblindi is very close to calling the healers.” Thor sighed. “I have convinced him to wait, as this is a pain that will pass with time, but you have been almost catatonic since your arrival into these climes! You left me once, Loki. Do not leave me again. Do not go where I cannot follow. I need you to be aware and present, as does our son when he is born.”

“What have I wrought upon you both?” Loki laughed through tears. “You heard what Father said, Thor! I have ruined your reputation . . . subjected you to rumours and scandal . . . I have made life unbearable for you, while giving you a child we are not ready to raise. I –”

“No, Loki. Do not do this. Do _not_ sound like him!”

Thor yanked at Loki by his face. He cupped both cheeks with a firm grasp, until Loki was forced to sit upright and lock eyes with a solid gaze, and – as his eyes shimmered and shone with the tears that freely fell – Thor pressed their foreheads together, while he breathed deep the rich scent that was unique to Loki. Thor struggled to draw in deep breaths, as he fought back the urge to shout and argue and criticise. Loki trembled beneath him. The red eyes were wide and so filled with fear that it broke something in Thor, as he wept in turn.

“You did _nothing_ to me, Loki,” swore Thor. “I was the one who chose to submit. No one considers Mother inferior or broken or soiled for submitting to Father, even after she chose to bear him children, but yet I am supposed to be somehow at your mercy? You never could harm me! You fought tooth and nail to prove that matter to our friends, swearing that this was consensual, and yet now – despite everything – you buy into old prejudices?

“Am I weak? Am I worthless? I was the brother to whom you were jealous, that you considered powerful and popular, and yet this person you so desired could be so easily overcome? You are better than that, Loki. What about our child, too? Will you teach them that it does not matter who they love, as one will always dominate over the other?”

“And how will you endure?” Loki asked. “How will you endure as _argy_?”

“I shall endure being an _ergi_ , as you endured being Jotun. Do you still feel shame? I should hope not, as there is no shame in something beyond your control, and now you wear your face with comfort, with ease . . . with _pride_! I know you shall stand at my side, just as I stood at your side, and together we shall combat this stigma and create a better world.

“If all else fails, there is no such stigma in Jotunheim. I will still fight for you to be acknowledged as my consort, so that we may remain in Asgard together, but if not . . . these people are our family and our allies, while these climes are better suited to your flesh. If you cannot be consort to a prince, I will gladly sacrifice everything to be husband to a man. I will be at your side. I will be your equal. We will be together, either here or there.”

Loki laughed and wiped at his tears. He left his cheeks flushed with the force of his rubs, while he stretched at the skin and smeared the tearstains, and Loki fell back against the stool with a heavy thud, while he stretched out his legs before him. Thor attempted to follow, but the sheer weight and size of his stomach made it difficult. He was forced to use the muscles of his arms to bear the weight, while he slid awkwardly across the floor to the cabinets beside the stool, and – with a loud grunt – fell back and panted for breath.

A muffled laugh broke from Loki. Thor rolled his eyes and lightly slapped at his shoulder, which only brought a further bout of laughter from Loki, who poked back at his stomach with a whisper about how he looked like a _bilgesnipe_ on a frosted floor. They sat together until the tears returned from the force of their laughs, until – with a broken sigh – Loki cast his gaze back to the large windows with a sad smile. Helblindi joined the small group.

He stood to the sides, while Sif took a seat wrapped in heavy furs. It was clear his attention was divided entirely between Sif and Steinn, as he alternated between exaggerated excitement in response to childlike stories and less-than-subtle interest in any words uttered by the adult beside him. Býleistr and Agnar remained locked in their world, as Býleistr ran his hands over Agnar’s stomach, and Thor winced with a spark of envy that his stomach was far smaller in comparison. Loki watched them with a smile, until he asked:

“You would willingly give up the throne?”

Thor reached for Loki’s hand. They sat on the floor, both watching the rather familial scene outside together, until Helblindi caught their eye and turned to wave, and Thor – waving back – smiled while Loki simply turned his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Thor sighed and slid to his side, where he draped an arm along his back and toyed with the lapel of his leather coat. Loki leaned his head against his shoulder. It was a small and intimate gesture, with their back to the group outside, and Thor hummed in thought as he kissed at Loki’s hair.

“There is a time when I thought the throne is what I desired,” confessed Thor. “I was arrogant and short-sighted, but – when Father stripped me all my powers – I came to realise that all I wanted in life was my _family_. You will never know how much it broke my heart when you denied me my return home, especially when I believed Father dead . . . unable to make amends. Here I have what was once my brother, but now my lover.”

“And you would give up Father, Mother, your friends . . .?”

“I have learnt a great deal in these past few months.” Thor smiled and kissed his head. “It is apparent to me now that being a warrior is not about how many battles one has won, but with what courage one faces all obstacles and what consideration one gives to others. I would sacrifice everything so those I love will be content, and – although it will not be easy – I will be happy to know that you are here unpunished and able to father your child . . .

“I – I thus think it is best that you relinquish your rights to our family back home. If you are no longer my legal brother, it means there is no crime for Father to punish, and perhaps we could live in Asgard – even if not the palace – should you choose that in future. If we revert to being simply cousins, we could be legally wed and have that marriage recognised across all nine realms, and we could ease the stigma and perhaps be better received by our people. I know that I am not the one to sacrifice in this case, so I feel guilt even asking this of you.

“I merely raise it as an _option_. If you cannot bring yourself to cut such ties, we shall remain on Jotunheim and we could still marry, as they do not acknowledge us as siblings, and thus we would not be breaking their laws. If you wish to return to Asgard, you could cut such ties with our family and our marriage would be enough to keep you all rights to remain and to our child, but you could evade punishment as our acts would not legally be incest.”

Loki tensed under his hold. A silence fell upon them again, until Steinn ran inside to the door and Thor could only raise a finger to his mouth, and – thankfully – Steinn understood the gesture and ran into another room to give them some privacy. Thor closed his eyes. He let his tears gather as he slowed his breath, but they still blurred his vision when he reopened them and saw nothing but the strange décor of the Jotun palace. It was difficult to envision a lifetime of windows and snow and circular rooms, but easy to envision a life with Loki.

He continued to stroke at long hair, while Loki dropped a hand to his stomach. The soft fingertips slid beneath the loose material of his top, until they found one of the handprints pressed against the side of his skin, and Thor winced when another appeared low on the opposite side, forcing him to press near to his groin. Loki laughed at the antics of their son, before blinking back tears and turning to Thor with a visible swallow.

“To cut such ties would be to deny Mother,” whispered Loki. “That is a lot to consider. I know she would not object and would wish for us to be happy no matter the circumstances, but she was the only person to ever support me and respect me and adore me . . .”

“Aye, is that so?” Thor teased. “What did I do, then?”

“You know what I mean, Thor! I know that an official disownment would not diminish our love or relationship, but I feel it would be a connection lost between us, something _just_ ours and no one else’s . . . Frigga may have many friends, but she has only _two_ sons. I would be heartbroken to lose such a treasured privilege, even if I would be her only son-in-law.”

Loki climbed to his feet, before he offered a hand to Thor. Thor took it with a grateful smile, but it was far from enough to bring him to his feet, and soon – with many grunts and another hand offered – they managed to yank him upright and balance him steady, as he panted for breath at the exertion of what was once an easy task. It took a few seconds for Thor to breathe steady and slow his heart, before he stumbled over to a stool and took a seat with a groan.

“I am sorry,” whispered Loki. “I swore to be strong for you.”

Thor reached out with a lazy hand. He flipped his hand upward, until Loki took the hint and grabbed for his hand, and – together – they entwined their fingers once more and squeezed with a reassuring gesture that brought a smile to both lips. Loki came to stand beside him, where Thor pulled his fingers to his mouth. He kissed every digit. He nuzzled against the open palm. Loki laughed and teased him, before he sat on the edge of the iced table and gazed out into the gardens beyond. Thor asked in a low and soft voice:

“I thought we had this conversation?”

“Ah, you are about to say that we need to be strong for _each other_ ,” chided Loki. “You will say that – especially if we are to be wed – that we must be equals first and foremost, with complete support whenever the other suffers, and that we must –”

A dawning realisation fell upon Loki. He blinked and stood with open mouth, as he ran his eyes up and down over Thor, and Thor – with a smile – continued to sit on the stool with eyes brimming with unshed tears. Sif and Helblindi were nowhere to be seen outside, while Býleistr helped Agnar to rise and guided him into the palace, and finally they were given some true privacy as no one could see inside. Loki ran his hands over his face.

“You have talked a lot about marriage,” said Loki.

Thor laughed and slid from the stool; every joint ached and burned, as he knelt on one knee and took a blue hand into a white hand, while he craned his neck upright to lock eyes with Loki, and soon they were both laughing through tears of happiness. Tradition dictated a ring, but Thor simply made do with a kiss placed to the ring-finger instead. Loki laughed. He would not stop, as if the joy was too much to contain, and inside the baby kicked as if disliking the attention being elsewhere. Thor shushed the baby with a smile, as he asked:

“Loki Odinson, will you marry me?”

“Loki . . . Loki Laufeyson.”

A jolt of adrenaline coursed through Thor. He stared up with wide-eyes to Loki, who appeared resolute and eerily calm, and yet the smile on his lips brought small wrinkles to his eyes and colour to his cheeks. Loki burst out into laughter and tears again, as he dropped onto his knees and embraced Thor. He ran kisses over every inch of skin. Thor kissed back, unable to gain breath and unwilling to let go, until Loki swore in a serious voice:

“Loki Laufeyson will marry you.”


	15. Chapter 15

“I am sure,” said Loki.

The hall was alight with candles. A soft glow filled every surface, with deep shadows cast over the far walls, and the frost – cast over the cave stone – sparkled and shone with every flicker of the candles. A variety of murals were carved into the walls, depicting legends of men from the days of creation and gods whose names were long forgotten, while the wind howled from the head of the cave, barely blocked off with a carved ice screen.

Loki stood to one side of the plinth, carved from ice in turn. A pewter chalice sat on top, with a strong scent like iron emanating from within, and the interior appeared blackened from years of usage, with the ice indented at the base from years of its placement. Thor stood opposite. The furs clad across his body replaced his Asgardian attire, with thick leathers supporting his frame and protecting his skin from harsh climes, and parts of the trousers and shoulders were accessorised with bones, designed as a basic form of armour.

“Jotun attire does not suit you, my love,” whispered Loki.

Thor scoffed and scratched at his beard. The smile on his face brought lines to his eyes, while blue eyes flickered with unshed tears, and the blush to his cheeks revealed the depths of emotion that Loki sought instead to suppress. The pews around them were chiselled from the stone of the original cave floor, designed in concentric circles with the plinth centre at waist-height for the typical Jotun, and – on the far circle – Býleistr sat with Agnar and Steinn, while Sif sat behind Helblindi on the nearest circle. Helblindi stood before the plinth. 

“Helblindi said these are sacred halls,” replied Thor. “I was told that these halls were made before recorded history, where – in recent millennia – only royalty have been allowed to hold ceremonies of marriages and funerals and blessings, and I thought it best to honour Jotun traditions by wearing Jotun attire. You are merely jealous, Loki.”

“I am jealous of a loin-cloth and fur tunic? Of course,” teased Loki.

“Come now, will you really be so critical to your soon-to-be husband? I could easily critique your ensemble in turn, if I must, but I do not due to good manners . . . I do not mention how you dress like a witch, or a bit weaselly or greasy, or the cow horns . . .”

Thor mimicked the horns with his fingers. Loki let loose a low hiss of breath, as he pinched the bridge of his nose and strove not to rise to the bait, and yet – as Thor waggled his eyebrows – laughter poured forth from his lips without intent. Helblindi cleared his throat between them, as he formed the point of the triangle formation around the plinth, and he sent each of them a cold glare in turn, before pointing towards the ceiling. A mural of the gods was etched into the stone above, each with eyes that fixated toward the plinth.

“Do remember this is a sacred place,” chided Helblindi.

Loki hardened his gaze to Thor. A nudge to his lower leg sent Thor stumbling back a step, as he struggled to balance under the heavy weight of their son, but the smile that crossed his lips was dangerous and brought a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. He kicked Loki back, although this time a little harder and enough to potential bruise. Loki laughed. He threw his hands into the air, with an ‘I dare you’ gesture, until Sif loudly cleared her throat.

They both took a step back, heads hung low. A few stray giggles escaped them, as if they were back on the playground and lost in private jokes, and it only brought back memories of their brotherhood, as tears threatened to spill from Loki’s lips. The laughter morphed into choked cries. Thor reached out for his hand with a trembling lip and swallowed hard, as he interlocked their fingers and squeezed for a momentary reassurance, and Loki drew in a staggered breath and squeezed back. Helblindi waited for Loki to calm before he said:

“I must warn you both . . . this is permanent.”

Thor ran the pad of his thumb over Loki’s skin. He slowly raised his head to lock his gaze, as Loki fought the urge to break the triangle formation and step closer, but he stood his ground and relished in the warm touch against cold flesh. The wind howled outside, while the guards stood with a clatter of armour any time they moved. Steinn yawned. The world around them carried on, while they relished in a few seconds without spoken words, and Thor raked his eyes over Loki as if seeing him for the first time. He smiled and shrugged.

“I will not change my mind,” said Thor.

“That’s all well and good, but I must emphasise that divorce is not an option.” Helblindi winced and shook his head. “The Jotun law does not allow for separation. If one of you becomes abusive to the other, we can – at most – imprison the abusive one and leave all possessions and finances to the other partner. We cannot annul the marriage. We cannot allow for divorce. If you cheat or grow apart or even if one of you dies . . .

“This will leave a physical mark; much as how a ring serves as a symbol of an eternal union, this will prove you are claimed by another and cannot marry again. This ceremony can be conducted without witnesses, but it requires public acknowledgement from both parties to afford you any beneficial rights. The presence of witnesses will allow for official documentation. The publicly acknowledged ceremony affords the legal right of inheritance should death or abuse occur, but the documentation affords recognition from Asgard.

“It’s why many couples choose not to marry, especially as our laws regarding blood mean that the child will be recognised by any parent that lays a claim, and both parents will have equal rights to that child. Traditionally, only our royalty married. It was necessary when we often married those from other realms, whose laws and customs were so different, and it afforded us more rights and protections with those realms, but here . . . just be certain.”

Helblindi flexed his fingers, as he raised his hand to his chest. He gazed into the distance, where he smiled as Steinn nuzzled into Agnar with eyes fluttering closed, and – clenching his fist with a hissed laugh – Helblindi turned back to them and nodded deep. A quiet passed between them, as Loki quirked an eyebrow in an attempt to analyse the conflicted expression, but Helblindi soon caught his gaze and quickly reverted to a warm smile, which brought colour to pale cheeks and a shimmer to his eyes. Thor asked in a low voice:

“What are the benefits to marriage?”

A low hum rolled from Helblindi. He tilted his head to the side, as one hand fell to his stomach and fingers caressed at the skin beneath his Jotun attire, and again his eyes darted to Steinn who fell asleep in the arms of Agnar. It was something paternal and affectionate, bringing back memories of mornings spent waking beside Frigga or evenings drifting away to stories told by Odin, and Loki – squeezing at Thor’s hand – smiled despite the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks. Thor smiled in turn and shrugged his shoulders.

“It will unite your souls,” whispered Helblindi. “It protects your finances, creating an unbreakable bond so that no other can take what is owed to you, and it allows you to be publicly recognised as spouses, with your names on each other’s family trees.”

“You are _sure_ the Allfather now recognises Jotun marriages?” Loki asked.

“I demanded it after the whole ‘bastard’ discussion. He was rather quick to change the law, even retroactively applying it to those such as myself, and it’s worked out well in the long run, which also leads me to the next batch of benefits. You cannot be separated. You cannot be forced into any union with any other. You will also be blessed by our gods.”

Býleistr pulled Agnar close, as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. The sight of two Jotun so lost in love and memories jarred against memories of battle and provocation, so that – even after so much time among their people – Loki struggled to reconcile both good with bad. Too many words echoed about his mind . . . _‘I’ll hunt the monsters down and slay them’_. . . the people once loathed were the people now envied. The gentle touches would never be allowed in Asgard, but here there was tolerated . . . _accepted_. Loki jumped as Thor asked:

“So how does this work?”

“I will first ask you to make vows,” said Helblindi.

“That is all?” Thor asked.

“He said that comes _first_ , Thor,” muttered Loki. “I know our language is a second tongue to King Helblindi, but I’m _positive_ that the word ‘first’ still implies that there is more to follow, unless – of course – he was taught by one as eloquent as you.”

“Are you _sure_ you want to get married?” Helblindi asked.

Loki blushed and Thor laughed. Helblindi responded by pinching the bridge of his nose, while his other hand fell upon his hip with a heavy thud, and he lowered his head with a squint that aged him beyond his years, as Thor held tighter to Loki’s hand. The words of Frigga echoed about his mind. If they were to be husbands, they would need to cease being brothers . . . that would begin by ceasing the bickering and rivalries. Loki drew in a shuddered breath and held tight to Thor in turn, as he angled his body towards him.

“So first we make vows,” said Thor.

“Yes, you merely have to state you will be _faithful_ to your beloved. You can be as detailed or as vague as you like, but – with Býleistr’s attention span – I hope we can keep this short and sweet for all our sakes. I’m also feeling a bit peckish. I recommend something like: ‘I understand all that marriage entails and pledge to be loyal to my beloved’.

“And what comes next? What is the second part?”

“You will then take the dagger I present to you.” Helblindi slid a blade onto the plinth. “You will each make a cut deep into your palm, before pouring the blood into this chalice, and then you will need to clasp hands over the chalice to connect the wounds. The idea is that two bloodlines shall become one, which is symbolic of the children to come forth.

“The next part is one that Asgardians tend to . . . struggle to complete. You will both need to drink from the chalice in order to finalise the wedding and complete the ceremony, and – well – I like to joke that married couples share in enough bodily fluids anyway, so what is one more in the scheme of things? After that it’s simply a matter of Sif and Býleistr signing the contracts as lead witnesses, followed by Agnar and myself as secondary witnesses.”

“This is not what I expected,” said Thor.

“Well, I will admit that Asgardian weddings are much more romantic . . . hymns sung as the couple enters to hundreds of guests, with hands interlaced with a white cloth, walking around the fire with your first steps as a married couple, a public kiss . . . all pomp and glamour, but unions that can be broken with a midnight squabble and a quick demand for divorce.”

A low hiss of breath followed. Helblindi rolled his eyes, as he raised high his hand. The gesture exposed his palm, where a rather brutal keloid scar lined the white flesh, and – with the glamour of _seiðr_ – perfectly unscarred skin replaced the sight. A cold wave of dread washed over Loki. He fought back the nausea and clenching of his stomach, while Thor simply furrowed his brow and glanced from face to face, and Loki envied him the moment of incomprehension, as such tragedies lay beyond what he believe people capable.

“I am unable to wed,” said Helblindi. “It was not my choice. I hope one day to change our laws, so that a scar is just a scar and the victim can one day heal, but – until that day – I will always emphasise that this is a decision not to be taken lightly by any person. It is an outdated law that goes hand-in-hand with how adoption is unrecognised. This is a commitment that you’re _choosing_ to make. Are you certain about this?”

“I have never been more certain in my life,” swore Thor. “I have known Loki since we were children, and I have been exclusive with him since before our first century. I cannot imagine a life without him at my side. I have his hair entwined with mine, just as I would tattoo his name upon my arm if it wasn’t so frowned up. I never want us to part.”

“I – I feel the same way.” Loki shrugged and murmured: “I fear Thor relies too much on sentiment, but I will say that my life feels incomplete without him to inspire me to greatness and to support me in moments of weakness. I am content with him.”

“Then let us begin,” chirped Helblindi.

Helblindi put a hand to the knife. The blade was curved and dull, although the blade itself appeared sharp despite the centuries of usage, and along the hilt dozens of runes were etched into the stone, some names familiar and some names unrecognisable. Thor squeezed at Loki’s hand and released with an audible swallow, before he stepped closer to the plinth. He lifted his hand and held it high over the chalice, ready to make the first incision, before he locked eyes with Loki and his expression turned serious. Thor said in a low voice:

“I – Thor Odinson – swear to always be loyal to Loki Laufeyson. I shall support him through all endeavours, just as I shall love him through weakness and strength, and I swear to never leave his side or abandon him in times of need. He is my light. He is my soul. I can only hope to honour him as much as he honours me with his presence. I love you, Loki.”

The knife was heavy to hold. It nearly fell from Thor’s fingers, as he failed to anticipate the weight, and – as Loki failed to hold back a smile at the warm words – the blade was soon brought to flesh and the point pressed to skin. Thor hesitated. The scars on his body were never self-inflicted, unlike that of Loki, and instinct appeared to fight with desire, until he finally screwed shut his eyes and raked the blade over his blame. He hissed. He dropped the knife, which Helblindi caught quickly, and let his wound bleed into the chalice.

Loki swallowed hard at the sight of blood, as his hand twitched and moved towards the wound, and a nod from Thor was all it took for him to jerk his hand back, while Thor clenched his fist to stop the flow of blood and allow the wound to clot. The knife was pushed towards Loki. He raised his hand over the chalice, opposite side to Thor, and fought with his racing heart to hear something other than his racing pulse. He whispered:

“I . . . Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Jotunheim, Master of Mischief . . . do hereby pledge to Thor Odinson my undying fidelity and respect. I pray that the sun shall shine upon us always, so that I may share in the light that you offer, and perhaps . . . perhaps I can shed a little light in turn, so that you may feel the same warmth you bestow onto others. Thank you, Husband.”

Loki blushed. He kept his head low, as he snatched at the knife, even as he heard a shuddered sigh from Thor and caught sight of a tear rolling down the cheek, and – pursing and gnawing at his lips – he dragged the blade down his hand in turn. Thor quickly snatched at his hand. The wounds were pressed together, while they locked eyes, and the sting that ran through every nerve grounded him in the moment. Tears ran down his cheeks.

The mixture of grief and joy was surreal, especially to see Thor crying with happiness, and Loki parted his lips with unspoken words, while Sif and Byleistr stepped behind Helblindi ready with quills in hand. Thor smiled and pulled away his hand . . . _‘you will need to both periodically reopen the wound and tend to the wound, to enable a clean scar’_. . . he took the chalice first and raised it to his lips, as he sipped at the blood. Sif signed the contract behind Helblindi. The chalice was handed to Loki, as Býleistr readied himself to sign.

A heavy scent of iron filled Loki’s senses. Bile rose to his throat, as he saw how Thor’s lips now looked red and how he retched with every breath, and he nearly dropped the chalice in disgust until he realised all they stood to lose. He took in a few fast and short breaths, until he growled out in frustration and downed the blood. Loki slammed the chalice onto the plinth, while the scribbling sound of a signature echoed out about the hall. _It was done_.

“I now pronounce you eternal spouses,” swore Helblindi.

Thor laughed loud, as he yanked Loki close. There was no time to protest. A kiss was pressed against his lips, making this their first display of public affection, and momentary panic overcame Loki as he froze tense, until realisation dawned and he relaxed into the embrace. The seconds ticked by them, as Agnar signed the document and Steinn moaned at being woken, and Sif chuckled as she whispered to them ‘congratulations’.

Loki barely noticed as footsteps grew closer. He did notice the sudden silence. It struck every single person in the room, as the kisses stopped and Thor pulled away, and Loki – with a furrow of his brow – turned to see the entrance of the halls. _Odin_. He was the last person Loki expected to see, but there he stood . . . traditional robes over his ageing form, hair low and loose to a formal setting, and skin an icy shade of blue just like Loki . . . _blue_. . . Loki could only open and close his mouth like a fish out of water, as Odin murmured:

“I see you have wed without me present.”

The form was exactly as Loki remembered, except the sparkle of _seiðr_ could not be felt, and so the illusion of an Asgardian form had been abandoned for some time, meaning all those Jotun – from arrival point to wedding hall – saw Odin in his natural flesh. Loki dropped his hand to his side, where blood dripped onto the frosted stone below. In his peripheral vision, Sif tended to the wound on Thor’s palm, and behind him Helblindi sighed, but he heard and saw nothing except Odin. He fought to find strength to speak, as he whispered:

“You – You are in Jotun form.”

Loki stepped forward. Odin winced and nodded towards Loki’s palm, who – with a gasp – brought his hand to his chest and held it tight to his chest . . . Helblindi came beside him, wrapping his hand in heavy bandages and infusing them with _seiðr_ , and the warm thrum of magic provided a small comfort. It was still nothing like Frigga. Loki glanced behind Odin on tiptoe, hoping to catch sight of her and catch her healing touch, but Odin was alone and simply stared between Thor and Loki with a watery eye. He mumbled:

“I never dreamed I would miss my sons’ marriage.”

“You – You _hate_ me,” choked Loki.

“No, Loki.” Odin visibly swallowed. “I am angry, but my love remains. Do you know what it means to engage in an incestuous union? Aye, you must. You disowned your family and accepted Laufey as your father, casting me aside and denying all I have done for you, and yet . . . and yet I know that only I am to blame for this action. It hurts me greatly, but I know that I was the one to push you to such drastic lengths. I spoke before I thought.

“You will always be my son, Loki. It is why I can never approve of this union, but this union has been cast between two cousins of two realms and legally . . . I cannot deny its validity. I lost a son, just as I have lost a child before, but I look to you and feel the same love as always. I am unable to erase years of paternal affection, but you are no longer mine, are you?”

“I had no choice, Father,” pleaded Loki. “It was the only way for a legal union.”

“I cannot say I understand, Loki, but I can say that I do not hate you.” Odin winced and waved a hand. “Your mother and I . . . had some words. I spoke with anger and haste and prejudice, insulting – not just Thor, but – her in the process. The act of love does not make a person weak, but in my anger I attacked you at your weakest points.

“I shall always live with the knowledge I missed the wedding of my sons, even if I cannot abide the fact that they have incestuously married one another, and yet a part of me hopes – in some years to come, after I have processed this change – we may yet still have an Asgardian ceremony so that I will not miss out on this life event in its entirety. I simply need time to balance my love for you with my disgust for this sin. I ask you for time.”

The bandages were finally wrapped. A matching set sat on Thor’s hand, as he stood beside Loki and clasped the unwounded hand on a tense shoulder, and Loki could only reach up to squeeze in search of a reassuring anchor to reality. The large stomach pressed lightly to Loki’s side, where the faint press of a foot could be felt even through his many layers, and yet – with a hiss of breath – Thor dropped his wounded hand to the other side and glared at their unborn son for a kick in both directions. Loki laughed through tears and looked to Odin.

“I – I did not mean to slight you,” swore Loki. “I shall always see you as my father, even if I can no longer call myself an Odinson, but – but this was the _only_ way to bind Thor and I together and prevent being ripped apart by the dungeons or exile! I cannot be expected to leave my realm, my family, _and_ my love in a single day and single breath. I cannot!”

“I understand your sacrifice, Loki,” said Odin.

“You said it yourself: what choice did we have? I was either to be cast into the dungeons, punished for the crime of incest as a deterrent to others, or I was to be exiled into Jotunheim, disowned so that you could officially claim no crime had been committed.”

Loki ran his hands through his hair. The anxiety struck again, as his heart raced and mouth ran dry, but Odin did not raise a hand or a voice, and instead he simply took slow and firm steps towards Loki. Thor was gently pushed to one side, as Odin dropped his hands onto shoulders and held tight with a firm grasp. He pulled Loki forward. They stood as father and son for the first time in many years, with memories of his childhood flickering before his vision, and Loki gave a trembling smile as his eyes watered. He sniffed with a laugh.

“I know it is not much, Loki, but I do swear to keep this form on a permanent basis.” Odin winced and swallowed hard. “You may not be my son, but you _are_ my nephew. I will keep any ties that I can with you. I will show my solidarity, and do all I can to steer our people through these times into a greater acceptance of the Jotuns, but I must ask for your patience. I will always accept you as my son, but this union . . . it shall take time.”

A comfortable silence passed between them. Loki gave a shuddered sigh, as he raised a hand to touch lightly at Odin’s hand, and there was no hesitation . . . no fear . . . Jotun flesh could not be burned or harmed by another Jotun, and – for the first time – he was not alone. There was another Jotun like him, one who was proud to wear his form. A tear ran down Loki’s cheek. He nodded to Odin, with a brief smile, as Helblindi swept around with contracts and pen in hand. There was no quill, but there was a great smirk as Helblindi chirped:

“At the very least, this will unite our two realms.”

“Do not speak to me, Helblindi,” said Odin. “This is what you planned, is it not? You always wanted to reclaim Loki. How convenient that you merely had to wait and play the supportive brother, only to now gain everything you sought from the start?”

“Oh come now, Uncle! You act as if I somehow caused all these changes . . . I most certainly wasn’t the one to impregnate my cousin, but I also wasn’t the one to scream abuse at Loki until he was nearly catatonic with stress. Now, I don’t want to ruin this moment with politics, but the throne always was meant to go to Loki at some point. I think we ought to discuss the issue regarding heirs, as clearly a child cannot be heir to both realms.

“I would like – ideally – some freedom not afforded with the role of king, while Býleistr would be the first to tell you I am something of a wanderer by nature, but my people come first and I won’t leave my position until our realm thrives. Likewise, Býleistr is a warrior by nature and not inclined to rule. Now, if Loki were to have more children -?”

“This is what you wish to talk about? You are far too like Fárbauti in nature. A hopeless romantic squandering his talents in search of some utopian ideal! You are not content to rule? You would rather sacrifice your kingship? What would this bring you?”

“Well, you have seen our family tree, yes? Kings don’t do well.”

“You are a child and know nothing of politics.”

Helblindi darkened his expression. He was half-bent in a bow, when he lifted his head until shadows cast over his face, and – with a dangerous smirk – he slowly stood to full height, as he cocked his head to the side and looked Odin over with narrowed eyes. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh; _seiðr_ sparked through the air from both men, as two sets of red eyes locked with full force, and Helblindi quickly signed at the papers in hand, as he held them expectantly in midair. Býleistr took them with a low grunt.

“Allow me to change your mind,” said Helblindi.

A hand was placed on Odin’s shoulder, as Helblindi led him outside. No one spoke, as they watched the two mumble under their breaths in a quick succession of traded demands, and both ducked behind the iced screen into the courtyard beyond. They would need to slink through a labyrinth of cave systems beyond the courtyard to return to the city, where guards would escort them toward the palace and negotiations could take place. Loki shook his head, while Thor came behind him and wrapped arms around his waist with a sigh.

Sif came to stand beside them. Býleistr struggled to hand the paperwork to a guard, as Steinn hung from his arm with loud yawns and grumbled complaints, and – without another politician present – his entire demeanour shifted from ‘monosyllabic grunts’ to ‘expressive sentences’. Loki leaned into Thor and half-closed his eyes, while Sif jumped from foot-to-foot to evade the cold weather. The skin on her face was red from the wind. Sif confessed:

“I will never know what to make of Helblindi.”

“He plays the fool so that others underestimate him,” said Loki. “I do not know far the strings extend that he so deftly plays, but he has my respect for his understanding of basic human nature. I will not be surprised if he works this to his advantage. He will rule until Jotunheim is strong, before having an heir of Laufey’s blood succeed with all his knowledge.”

“I also expect him to have wooed the hand of Sif by that point, too,” teased Thor. “Helblindi is a man that knows what he wants, and I believe he is patient enough to play the long-game in matters most important to him. You also have a great deal in common.”

“Lost children? Romances warped? Prejudices endured?”

“Now who is the cynic,” said Loki.

Sif smiled and opened her mouth to speak. The words were silenced, as Býleistr finally escaped Steinn and darted over to them with a bright smile, and – slapping a hand on his shoulder – Loki lurched forward a few steps and glared back. Steinn clung to the hand of Agnar, whose stomach paled in comparison to Thor, but still stood strong near to his final bimester, and he struggled to stop Steinn from tugging at him to leave. Býleistr lightly pulled them towards the archway, as the screen let in beautiful patterns of light.

“Come, let us celebrate,” chirped Býleistr. “You are only married once, Brother! I’ll have the guards take the paperwork back to the palace, where they’ll add your union onto our family tree, and this time the servants have prepared the meal, so you won’t endure my cooking. I believe it is Asgardian tradition to raise your glass in a toast?”

“That is the tradition, yes,” said Sif.

“I think Thor and I will prefer a quiet night,” added Loki. “We also have the tradition of a ‘honeymoon’, where the couple retreats to remote locations, typically to consummate their union and spend their first few days alone as a couple. Thor and I were always shoved into secrecy, but it would be nice to walk freely hand in hand and share a room at last.”

“I also feel as if I am carrying a small litter,” muttered Thor. “It may not be romantic, but I would rather soak my feet than join in the festivities, and – believe me – that is the first time I have ever declined a party in my life. Still, I thank you. I thank you, Cousin.”

“Well, my home is empty,” said Býleistr. “Loki’s room is yours.”

“I may take you on that offer, if that is okay?”

Loki smiled at Thor’s question. Býleistr would drag Sif to the festivities, where Helblindi would later rejoin them with Odin, and – assuming the drinks flowed as long as they would in Asgard – they would have most of the evening to rest and bond and discuss matters. The following morning they could wake together from a shared bed . . . hold hands, share kisses . . . they would never have to hide their union again. Thor shook Býleistr’s hand and nodded toward him, before he beamed a bright smile and said in a firm voice:

“I am honoured to be a part of your family.”

“We are honoured, too,” swore Býleistr.


	16. Chapter 16

Thor sat alone.

The table was covered with an array of paperwork, as various contracts sat alongside formal letters and crumbling parchment, and the inkwell was almost ran empty. A quill sat wet beside a pen and personal computer. Thor rested his forehead in one hand, while he hunched forward and ran the other over his swollen stomach, and a few groans escaped his lips. The study was quiet enough for every moan and mumble to echo out, as Loki let loose a low sigh.

Loki stepped quietly into the study. Every footstep echoed out, until Thor jerked in his seat and cricked his neck, and – turning to Loki – revealed bloodshot eyes and black bags on the skin beneath, as his pale skin revealed the depths of the sleepless nights. Loki focussed most upon the stomach, which was extended to breaking point now that the six month mark had fast approached. The thin fabric strained until the hems nearly tore, while the skin where it rode upward revealed several stretch-marks, and a little handprint appeared very low.

It was a good sign, Frigga told them. The low handprints and high footprints revealed that the baby was in the right position, head-first for an easy exit, and surgery would likely be thus avoided, which was key when Thor sought to train again soon after birth. Loki stopped behind Thor. He rested hands on his shoulders, before digging his thumbs into the muscle and massaging deep the flesh beneath, while he whispered in a calm voice:

“How long have you been working here?”

Thor moaned as the massage continued. He reached behind him to clasp at Loki’s wrist, while his head lolled and he rubbed at his stomach, and Loki leaned to press a chaste kiss to his blond locks of hair, while trying to catch peeks at the scar on Thor’s palm. _They were married_. Never again would they have to hide kisses or touches, while every day brought new intimacies and bellows of laughter, and finally they could wake every morning in the same bed, without the other sneaking out early . . . for the most part.

“I have been here all night,” confessed Thor.

“You do know that when you work that our _son_ works, too,” chided Loki. “It is a stress on your body, Thor. Do not forget that he will be with us in a matter of weeks! If you do not sleep, he does not sleep. If you feel stressed, he feels stressed. You must _rest_.”

“I also must finish these contracts with Jotunheim, Loki.”

“And why must it be _you_ who finishes them?”

Thor gripped a little tighter on his wrist. A blush passed over his cheeks, while he lightly traced the ridges on blue skin, and Loki sighed as he paused in his ministrations, as he laid kisses upon kisses to Thor’s long neck. Thor stretched out his neck, exposing his pulse to the soft touch of Loki’s lips, before Loki buried his face against the skin and nuzzled with a deep inhale. He lightly wrapped his arms around Thor, hugging him close from behind.

“I must keep their respect,” said Thor.

The muscles in his shoulders tensed. Loki pulled back enough to attempt to loosen them, but his fingers on flesh only served to cause Thor to tense further, and so – with a sigh – he slid into a chair beside him and leaned on the desk. A few of the papers were covered in notes, particularly on the documents written in the Jotun tongue, and Loki noted various questions written down in the margins, with particular confusion on the various tenses. He pushed away a piece of paper with a hiss, before he took Thor’s hand and held it on his lap.

“Explain, Husband,” said Loki.

“I see how the nobles look at me.” Thor rubbed at his temple. “I have lost muscle with this pregnancy, Loki! I know I still look intimidating, but I feel more like my teenage self than a grown man. I cannot fight. I cannot train. Our realm still struggles to see women as equals, while it sees _argy_ men as less than women . . . they expect me to now stay in the palace, exclusively raising our son, while you act as king in my place. I cannot abide it!

“The brain is a muscle, too. I studied at the Academy just as you studied, while I learnt languages and histories that you felt beneath you, and yet they refuse to see that I have more to offer than a hammer and a list of victories in battle. I may still struggle with the Jotun language, but I have learnt enough to grow conversational and read well.

“These contracts will secure the exchange of the Casket in return for precious materials, ones which cannot be obtained by any other realm or means, and it will also force Jotunheim into a peace treaty that faces the wrath of all other realms should it be broken. I have considered all costs and benefits. I have wracked my brain to consider all loopholes. I have negotiated continuously with Helblindi since our marriage! I am proud of what I have done.”

“This can wait, Thor,” said Loki. “They have gone so long already without –”

“We _stole_ from them a core source of power.” Thor shook his head. “Helblindi has done wonders with renewable sources of energy and trade deals for other forms of fuel, but this Casket could revolutionise their people and bring their realm into a true modern era. I want to prove my worth, Loki. I want to be able to see those _snide, sanctimonious_ _bastards_ look me in the eye and apologise for having thought me any less of a man! I want to win.”

A spark came alive in his blue eyes. It was the same spark that came when they would runaway to engage in hunts for dangerous beasts as teenagers, as well as the same spark that came when they would play pranks together as young men, and the same spark that came before he marched into Jotunheim and changed their lives forever. Thor squeezed at his hand, while his other massaged his stomach and rubbed at the sensitive skin. A little footprint appeared not far beneath his ribs, which brought a smile to Loki, as he watched it move.

Thor fought so hard against stigmas and prejudices, all while carrying a child that would – by its apparent size – be a considerable pain to expel, and he did it all for no other reason than to prove his worth and the worth of all others that would come after him. Loki ran his thumb in circles over the back of Thor’s hand. There were vast ink stains over his palm, making his scar look almost black, and Loki raised it to his lips to press another kiss.

“You are still every bit a warrior,” observed Loki.

“Aye, and that brings me to my next point,” said Thor. “Why are you here? I know you love me more than life itself, enough that even Mother and Father seek to convince us to renew our vows here on Asgard, but here . . . _now_. . . Eir sent you to check on me, did she not?”

“Yes, but I fail to see why that matters. Eir is right to be concerned.”

“It matters as it is not _Eir_ who checks on me! It is not Eir who asks me whether I am well, or reminds me to go for check-ups, but instead she asks _you_ as the sire of this child. Is it that she sees you as more competent or responsible? You were an equal party in the act of intercourse between us, so why is it that I am given more stigma and shame by even Eir?”

Thor yanked his hand away, as he buried his face into his hands. He breathed low and hard, while he dropped his elbows onto the table, and Loki folded his arms in response, as he leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles. A few long seconds passed between them, before Thor started to fuss and fidget. The ache in his lower back was apparent, enough that Loki made a mental note to heal him with _seiðr_ again later that evening, but – lately – nothing seemed to permanently rid him of the ache . . . another reason to see Eir.

“Eir is angry with you,” confessed Loki.

He signalled to Thor to turn around. Thor obeyed and spun around on his chair, while Loki lowered his hands to his back and worked his _seiðr_ into the muscles, and – with a groan – Thor fell forward and allowed his magic to work its touch. Loki tried to extend the magic as taught, as he sought to provide a diagnostic check, but Thor’s natural _seiðr_ was too wild and too unbridled . . . no Mjölnir at his side, no Odin to take the brunt . . . without means to channel and focus his magic, it run contrary to Loki and stopped his dead. Thor muttered:

“Why is she angry with me?”

“Eir tells me that you have refused many tests,” said Loki. “Eir wanted to test the amniotic fluids due to this being an interspecies relationship, but you said that even a slim chance of a miscarriage was too high a chance to take. Eir wanted to use the soul forge to fully examine our son’s physique and health, but you said you wished for the gender to be a secret . . . we are both men, Thor, and the Jotun are a one-sex race! What surprise is to be had?”

“I have agreed to non-evasive tests,” said Thor.

“You know as well as I that those tests are outdated. Ultrasounds? Blood tests? I do not think that anything is wrong, neither does Eir, but _if_ something were wrong then we would need to know to deal with matters. I suspect that you miss many of these tests as you fear being an _ergi_. . . you fear confirmation of what we already know, as well as being treated like –”

“– a woman?” Thor laughed and shook his head. “Do you think I would be ashamed of that? I wanted to be a Valkyrie even before I knew how to spell the word. Loki, what I fear is being poked and prodded and treated like a lab rat . . . as something _less_ than a regular person, for even a woman has full control over her body! Even now, I refuse a test and they turn to _you_ to convince me to go for more. Are my choices no longer respected?”

Loki winced and pulled back. He climbed to his feet, as he massaged his temples and paced the study, while Thor – struggling to stand with the weight of the child – raised an eyebrow in his direction with lips pursed into a thin line. Loki yanked him to his feet, before jabbing a finger towards his swollen stomach and letting it rest a mere inch away from skin. The child was unfazed, unaware of the world outside of the protective womb, but Loki struggled to breathe as he flushed dark and his heart raced. Loki spat out in a low voice:

“You are a block-headed oaf!”

“You know you are beautiful when you are angry,” teased Thor. “Loki, I know you worry and yet there is nothing to worry about. I have been for every test that you can imagine, with the results due to come through sometime today, and I can promise you that they will be absolutely fine. This contract, however -? It cannot wait. It needs to be signed.”

“Why not give it to Sif?” Loki pleaded. “It’s hardly a secret that Helblindi has feelings for Sif, enough that he is pushing through changes to their laws to allow him to marry in future, and Sif seems to like him, too. They have a lot in common. It would be more convenient.”

“Aye, then who would get credit for all my work?”

“Do you think Sif so petty? Do you think Helblindi so foolish? Even if the noblemen decide it must have been Sif’s doing, there is no way that Sif would let such notions stand. You are becoming spontaneous and thoughtless again, when you should –”

“Helblindi gave us a home, Loki. He gave us a family, as well as provided us with a ceremony so that we may never be parted and we may start a family of our own, and Asgard repays him with . . . what? Do we simply reside here and ignore that we have warred with these people for millennia? Do we ignore that we stole their major resources?”

Thor snatched at one of the contracts. Loki wrenched it from his hand, before he slammed it down onto the table, and – with trembling hands – reached for Thor’s stomach, where he rested his hands on the firm flesh and massaged at the skin. The child kicked from within. A small footprint appeared, where it would vanish any time Loki touched it and reappeared whenever he brought his hand away, and soon he was laughing with tears threatening to form, as he rapidly blinked to dislodge them. He smiled at Thor and cupped his cheek.

“Thor, this can wait until the child is born.”

The cheek was warm with a flush, while Thor nuzzled into his palm. A wince struck Thor, as he arched his back and fidgeted where he stood, before – with a glare – pointing a finger at their unborn child and then laughed with Loki at the strength of their son . . . _‘he must take after me’ . . ._ a comfortable silence fell between them. Loki hoped that the reminder of all they stood to gain and lose would be enough to push pride away from Thor’s mind.

The laughter soon turned to tears, as Thor slowly unravelled before him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, as his lips trembled, and he grabbed at Loki’s hands and held them clasped before him, where he pressed a kiss to long fingers. Loki knew the pain well. He knew the shame at being the centre of gossip, along with the fear of always awaiting the next insult, and he saw it in Thor . . .  eyes downcast, hands clammy and cold . . . Thor soon lifted his head and locked eyes with Loki, as he squeezed tight against him.

“The people have come to respect you,” whispered Thor. “Father walks in the guise of a Jotun, with the noblemen too afraid to criticise or complain, and those of his age – those who remember the past – swell with pride and hope for a future reunited with loved ones. You single-handedly destroyed the stigma against male _seiðr_ users throughout your youth, while now people look to you as the Jotun that became a beacon of hope for Asgard.

“The few that hated Jotunheim were happy with your actions that day, only to be forced into reconsideration at the fact you were Jotun in turn, and those that hated your actions that day were also forced to change perceptions, as you used your _seiðr_ to help their people and mend your ways with good deeds. The young are being educated in turn . . .”

“Helblindi has asked that a Jotun noble be placed as a teacher in the Academy, as he hopes a familiar and constant face might normalise the Jotun race among our people, and he has begun to wear only his true form in response, as well. We are . . . improving.”

“Yes, but things do not get better for _me_.” Thor ran his hands over his face. “I see what you have done for _seiðr_ users, what Sif did for women, and I see what you and father are doing for the Jotun race. What am I doing for _argy_ men? If I have it within my power to make life better for them, is that not my duty to do all that I can in the process?”

Thor sniffed and pulled at his face. The tears were quickly blinked away, as he snatched up various contracts and documents into a leather folder, and – holding them against his chest with one arm – he pulled Loki towards him and wrapped a hand around his neck, embracing him single-handedly much as was common in the past. Thor leaned towards him, until lips connected and a lingering kiss was given. Loki tasted tears. They remained with lips locked together, sharing breath, until Thor smiled and stepped towards the doors.

“I will go rest, Loki,” said Thor.

“So if I come to our rooms in an hour or so -?”

“I will be there.” Thor laughed. “Come now, have I ever lied to you? I am not the sort to sneak away when I am told to stay put. I am a man of my word! I swear that I shall be in our rooms once you return . . . so long as you give me – ah – three hours or so?”

“Do not try to lie to a lie-smith, Thor.”

Thor delivered another kiss, as he whispered ‘just three hours’. Loki sighed and looked him over, but – aside from back pain – there was no sign of illness or injury, and yet he refused to assume all was well, at least until the results came back. Still, the hidden passageway to Jotunheim was now known by royalty on both sides and brief in duration. Thor was already most of the way toward the main doors, as he unsuccessfully attempted to sneak out with the door knocking against his stomach, and Loki rolled his eyes and shouted back:

“I mean it, Husband! I know where you go.”

There was no response. Thor gave a mock salute, with papers clenched to his chest, and disappeared into the corridors beyond. Loki pressed his hands to his temples; he heaved a long sigh and screwed shut his eyes with heart thumping in his chest, while the empty study provided little comfort in the ensuing silence. He dropped onto the chair and pulled at the leftover papers and books, while he hissed in breath and spat out:

“Damn it, Thor.”


	17. Chapter 17

Loki smirked.

He closed the book in hand, as he leaned back against the stone. The sunlight streamed in through the open window, warming his blue flesh and darkening its tone, while a leg swung over the edge of the windowsill. A sticky sweat stuck his leather attire to his skin, while he pulled at the collar to allow for some air on his form. Sif lingered in the doorway. A scent of perfume drifted through the lounge, unusual for her and yet still pleasant.

Sif was dressed in many furs. He watched as she slowly unclipped the cape, revealing winter attire rarely seen on Asgard, before throwing it over a leather armchair, and he pressed his lips into a line to hold back laughter, as he saw how her hair was worn loose. Loki swung his legs around and climbed to his feet, while he cricked his neck and waved a hand. Sif waved back. The silence between them was paradoxically awkward yet comfortable, as both avoided eye contact and yet watched the other with great focus, and he shrugged in response.

A wave of a hand dismissed the guards, who closed the doors behind them. Sif made no sign of their departure, as she dropped various papers and objects down onto a low table, before – with a smile – straightening her back and tossing a box to Loki. It was plain in nature, made from a common wood that grew even on Jotunheim, while the coldness within could be felt even without, and he simply raised an eyebrow as he asked:

“Did your date go well?”

The box clicked open. He widened his eyes to see a ball of ice stained red. It was a local cuisine made from Jotun waters, with the water so pure and filled with nutrients that it could easily quench a Jotun thirst for an entire day or more, and the red sweetener was a favourite flavour of Loki’s, likely imported as berries were impossible to find in those climes. Sif smiled. It was a most welcomed souvenir, enough that he lifted it to his lips and suckled at the ice for the juice inside. He sighed and whispered a ‘thank you’.

“It was no date,” said Sif.

“Funny, do you often wear perfume to political mediations?”

“I also would not claim it strictly business.” Sif blushed. “I will confess I held mixed feelings toward Helblindi at first, as he wears a mask of joviality and naivety, but – after some time – I believe he was able to show his true self. He has surprising depth and a macabre humour, while he is also quite solemn behind closed doors. We have become good friends.”

“It took time for me to warm to him, too.” Loki smiled. “I never met one who willingly wore the Jotun form, and I also never met one so willing to shirk his preferred form to make another feel more comfortable. He has a selfless side, even if I doubt its sincerity.”

“Aye, he can be quite Machiavellian. He manipulates all too much with a smile, sometimes making you believe that his ideas are your own or that he played no part in events, and yet – unlike _some_ – he uses not his talents for evil. He also . . . He also has experienced pain. I have met no other betrayed by a lover, just as I have met no other that has lost a child, and to meet one that has after stayed celibate . . . exercised self-control . . . that grief, that loss . . .”

Sif winced and shook her head. A hand fell to her stomach, as she sat down against the armchair, while her eyes stared into the fire with tears already half-formed, and Loki cast his gaze away with muscles tensed and arms folded. The quiet that fell between them was broken only by the crackle of the fires, while someone argued outside the doors to the lounge . . . two voices, both female . . . Loki strained to hear, as he quirked his head in the same direction. A few seconds followed of further silence, until Sif let out a long sigh.

He expected a few more shared words, but the doors were soon flung open. Loki jumped. He stepped towards the doors, with head quirked to the side, while he furrowed his brow and looked over the intruder to his private quarters. Frigga stood alone. Eir behind her quickly bowed and dashed out of sight, while the guards left the doors wide open, even as Loki signalled over and over for them to be closed. Frigga raised a hand.

Loki stopped. The tremble to her hand betrayed a greater fear, while her skin was pale and sunken, and her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, as she took in slow breaths that were audible in an otherwise quiet room. Sif stood at once, as she bowed deep with her hand pressed firm to her chest. A clatter of metal outside echoed about, as the guards raced to and fro with a sense of urgency, and even those that kept their place appeared anxious, enough that his heart started to race and his mouth ran dry. Frigga asked in a low voice:

“Where is Thor, my son?”

“In Jotunheim, I should suspect,” said Loki. “He thinks I do not know, but he is adamant on fixing a deal between our two realms before the baby is born. I would object, but we still have a few weeks until the birth and the pathway is beyond safe. There is always a guard on the other side, so someone shall be there to escort him to Helblindi. Do not worry.”

“Did you not see Thor on your return, Lady Sif?”

“No, my queen.” Sif rapidly blinked. “It is not an easy journey. I should imagine that is partly why Thor seeks to return the Casket, as it will enable the Jotuns to bring back their Bifrost, and facilitate in travel between our realms. I believe I returned before Thor departed, so we may just have missed on another. I wish that I could say more.”

“Thor is no fool. He would have taken his furs and various weapons, while he knows the publicly available map of Utgard by heart, and he has even learnt some of the local tongue. I do not understand why this sudden panic over what is a routine journey.”

Frigga gently sat onto the sofa. The weakness she displayed forced Sif to her side, as she helped each Frigga against the cushions, and soon a cool glass of water was pressed into her hands, while Loki discarded his souvenir on the windowsill. A lump formed in his throat. It was difficult to endure her nervousness, as he panted for breath and stumbled forward with hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Frigga stared ahead with lips pursed into a thin line, while she swirled the water in the mug with a shuddered sigh. Loki whispered:

“What is the matter, Mother?”

Loki sat by her side. The cushions dipped under his weight, as he reached with a trembling hand to take hers with a gentle squeeze, and – with a soft smile – Frigga blinked back tears and stroked at his cheek with a whispered ‘my boy’. A cool breeze drifted in through the open doors, catching at his long locks of hair, while Sif sat down on the table opposite them with her arms wrapped around her form. He struggled to control his racing heart, as his head swam with dizziness and his limbs felt heavy with pressure. Frigga whispered:

“Thor was due to see the healers today.”

“Yes, I am aware,” said Loki. “The results of his blood test, yes? I believe there were some other tests, as well as an ultrasound, but I was told that the young healer was too young to read the results of such an outdated machine. Is this the problem? I will criticise Thor on his return, as he should be resting for the birth, but . . . is something wrong?”

“The baby is fully grown, Loki.” Frigga sipped at her water. “Eir suspects the baby is in fact overdue, especially when the results are compared against the dates given, and when compared against his symptoms . . . back pain, the diarrhoea, stomach cramps . . . labour does not simply happen in a matter of minutes or hours, Loki. It can take days, but if he truly is in labour and it has gone on for this long -? I do not want him caught by surprise.”

“What is the worst that would happen?”

“If he is met by the guards, he should be fine. The issue is if he wanders alone, as Thor is stubborn enough to refuse an escort from the exit point into Utgard, and he falls into labour alone in the snow and the wastelands. He is mostly Asgardian in physique, unequipped to deal with the extreme cold and winds. There are also potential complications, as he is only a quarter-Jotun in blood, and without modern tests to have checked -?”

“That blasted idiot!” Loki clenched his fists. “He cannot have gone far, which is a small comfort. I will go with Sif at once, as I am sure we will make better time than any guard, and we will follow the usual route. Helblindi does not hire idiots, as such they will hopefully recognise the signs of labour and have Thor escorted to the hospital.”

Loki jumped to his feet, before marching across the lounge. He snatched at the cape and tossed it to Sif, who caught it with fast reflexes and donned it from instinct, and – with a shared look – they both stood and made to leave. Frigga remained seated. Loki came back to her side and pressed a kiss to her cheek, while she smiled through her tears and stroked again at his face, as if to remind her of his presence, and Sif soon pulled at Loki’s arm and dragged him towards the door. Sif turned her head to speak to him in a whisper.

“What if Thor does not recognise he is in labour?” Sif shook her head. “He could hide his symptoms and make it past the guard, at which point there is a good three miles of hiking to Utgard via the long route and still a mile through the shortcuts.”

“He would not have taken the long route in his condition.”

“We must send guards that way, just to be sure.”

That paused in the doorway. Loki brought a hand to his temple, as he strove to plan for all eventualities, but his mind fell back to the backaches and constant complaints, and he swallowed hard as he took in deep hisses of breath. He barely noticed as a hand rested on his shoulder, while squeezing in an attempt at reassurance. Loki turned around. Frigga stood behind them, with her skirts rustling behind her with every movement, and her fingers dug and scratched at the skin on her hands, as she looked pleadingly between them.

“We will find Thor, I swear it,” said Loki.

“Queen Frigga, we shall find him and escort him to safety.” Sif bowed deep. “The hospital has since been rebuilt, with a vast deal of equipment donated or traded by other realms, and their healers also have far more experience with Jotun births. No harm shall befall him.”

“At least not until _after_ the birth, when I beat him bloody.”

“Now that is something I’d _love_ to see you try.”

Frigga laughed as they teased and jested, but it was a broken sound. It did little to hide the small chokes of breath or hitched inhalation, while her smile still trembled and did not quite reach her eyes, and Loki knew that she must be able to read his fear as he read hers. Loki said nothing. He struggled to see through watery eyes, as she reached for his cheek and allowed him to nuzzle against her palm, while she asked in a pleading voice:

“Send him my love, Loki?”

Loki held her hand in his, as he smiled and nodded. The guards parted to make way for him, as he pulled back and let their hands linger in the air, before pulling away regretfully as her fingers reached out toward him in search of contact. Loki bit his lip until he tasted iron. He knew too well the depths of Thor’s stubbornness, while the climate of Jotunheim was unforgiving to one unprepared, and the idea of any harm befalling husband or child broke something inside him. He forced a smile, as he promised:

“On my word, he will be fine.”


	18. Chapter 18

_‘Are you sure, Prince Thor?’_

_Thor winced. The cold air was bitter and strong, catching at his skin and turning flesh red, and every breath let loose a low burst of steam. He hopped from foot to foot, as he ran his hands over the swell of his stomach in search of some warmth._ Seiðr _sparked in the cave behind him. The small carving into the cliff-face caught the wind, sending a howling cacophony of noise out around the small clearing with a painful pitch._

_A guard stood either side of the cave. The one to the left was new, dressed only in a loin-cloth with a blade held tight in his left hand, and his rigid stance – combined with his refusal to move his gaze from dead ahead – spoke of one just out of training and fresh to the field. The second was dressed haphazardly in armour and leathers, with scars running down his face, and his physique was large enough to practically hide the small cave from sight. If any unauthorised person came through the secret pathway, Thor pitied them._

_‘A few small pains, nothing more,’ lied Thor._

_He lightly slapped at his swollen stomach, where a wrenching ache tore through him. He doubled over as his muscles contracted and clenched, before – with a desperate gasp of breath – every muscle relaxed and a sense of peace washed over him. The waves of pain were growing more frequent, but the lack of sleep and recent succumbing to cravings likely led to indigestion. The second guard . . . Sverrir, if he remembered correctly . . . stepped towards him and looked him over with cold red eyes. A lip curled and head jerked upward._

_‘This seems like the start of labour.’_

_‘Nonsense,’ laughed Thor. ‘I have experienced worse pain in battle. They say that labour is the worst pain a person can endure, but this is something I can easily endure, and besides . . . my child is not due for another fortnight. Do not worry about me.’_

_‘It is my job to worry,’ said Sverrir. ‘This passageway is only known to our royal family and elite guard, and only those adept in_ seiðr _can use it to gain access to Asgard, which means the path you are to tread has few wandering that may aid you. I am also forbidden to leave my station, while your surprise visit means no one is here to escort you.’_

_‘It is a mile walk, something I can do in my sleep.’_

_‘Regardless, I shall send word to the palace.’_

_Thor twirled a hand in the air with a mock salute. Sverrir tightened his grip around his lance, until blue knuckles turned white, and his nostrils flared as his eyes felt to the huge stomach that strained at the fabric until hems threatened to break. Thor shook his head and walked away, as he massaged at the skin with callused hands and deep breaths. Only on Jotunheim would a guard and servant dare argue with a prince. The snow crunched underfoot, as he struggled for purchase with ice formed beneath the layers, and Sverrir called out:_

_‘I will have Prince Býleistr meet you.’_

_* * *_

Thor screamed.

It tore at his throat until he tasted blood. The sound pierced his ears, competing against the howling winds, and every panted breath broke the seconds between each scream, giving little reprieve as he cried out all over again. A line of drool fell from his lips, only to drop onto the snow and freeze slowly across the white surface. He spat out. The pain was only a dull ache now, a throbbing and tense sensation that allowed him to collect his thoughts, but then . . .

It struck again.

Thor dropped to his knees. He clawed at the snow. The tightness was unbearable, as if someone were slicing the muscle slowly with a blade, while every nerve was alight with a searing heat, and nothing eased it . . . nothing helped . . . he coughed and spluttered and choked, as spots appeared before his vision. It built and built inside him, until it reached a crescendo and the world grew blurred. He was light-headed . . . weak.

It was too much. He collapsed on his side, as the snow enveloped his swollen stomach, and the icy cold brought tumours and shivers to every limb, until each jerk of his limbs cause the snow to build into small mountains against the groove he created. The pain would fade again, but this time there was a pressure . . . like a need to defecate . . . agonising pain clawed at his lower back and insides, until something broke inside him. He was wet. A liquid seeped out down his legs and soaked into the snow, both strangely pink and clear at once.

“Thor,” called a voice. “Are you here?”

The footsteps would be clear until where he fell. The voice came from in front, where Thor – with burning muscles – struggled to force himself onto all fours, and blinked back tears with choked breaths as he stared toward a shadowy figure. _A Jotun man_. He stepped forward, as Thor collapsed again with broken sobs and streaming nose. The man stood before him, as a loud sigh escaped his lips, and Thor thought he recognised the sound . . . Býleistr . . . Thor lifted a shaking hand high as possible, fingers outstretched before the huge warrior.

“H-Help me,” begged Thor. “Make it stop.”

Býleistr gently squeezed at his hand, but soon released his grip. Thor struggled to find words through a dry mouth, while his teeth chattered so hard that his jaw ached, and soon thick muscled arms came beneath him and lifted him high against a chiselled chest. The skin was cold, even through the layers of his cloths and furs of his cape, but it was far less cold than the icy snow and the tall body shielded him from the wind. Thor laughed, as salty tears dripped onto his lips and merged with the iron of blood from his cheek. 

They moved in steady strides. Every thud of a step jostled Thor, adding to the jerks and tightening of his muscles, while an irresistible urge to push struck him and brought fear to him, lest him soil himself and lose all further dignity before a fellow warrior. He clawed at his stomach and groaned out low, until that groan turned into a growl and then a cry and finally a scream. He arched his back and sobbed, as Býleistr asked:

“How far apart are the contractions?”

“I – I am not in labour.”

“Now is not the time for denial or stubbornness,” said Býleistr. “You’ve already put your child at risk with refusing perfectly safe tests! You cannot go by dates alone when predicting the delivery date of a child . . . they grow at different rates, they have different needs . . . tell me far how far apart the contractions are in length. It’s vital.”

“They – They are a . . . a few minutes at most.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Býleistr picked up speed. “I know an inn on the edge of Utgard. It harboured refuges after the attack, but remains a makeshift infirmary and hostel. A man named Sindri stays there; I believe Loki saved his life, so he owes our family a favour.”

“W-What – What good – What good will –”

“He is a midwife. We need him _now_.”

Thor screamed out once more. He clawed and scratched at Býleistr, as he writhed and wept with the pain that tore through him, and the bounces and jostles increased as Býleistr ran, cradling Thor close to his chest as if he were no more than a babe. The size difference was never more apparent. Thor babbled incoherent words. Darkness washed over him as they ducked beneath a natural bridge formation, grand gates just to their right.

He wanted to go into the city . . . the hospital . . . Býleistr mumbled out a stream of phrases that barely could be processed . . . _‘adopted Hilmar, loved Hilmar, lost Hilmar’ . . . ‘do not make me lose another child’ . . . ‘stay strong and be brave’._ A building half-appeared in Thor’s vision. The roof was collapsed on one side, with beams visible and walls destroyed, and he murmured to see men camped there in tents, while the rest of the building varied from ‘dilapidated’ to ‘nearly refurnished’. They slowed their pace. They entered inside.

“We’re here,” swore Býleistr.

The main room was clearly a pub or tavern. A great deal of Jotun lingered and laughed and gossiped, until they saw the latest intruder and all fell silent . . . footsteps echoed out . . . fire sprung for light in various corners, while above could be seen the railings and walkways of the upper floors, with a few children and men peering down. Thor struggled to see, as his eyes rolled back, but he heard Býleistr whisper to the landlord . . . _‘Sindri, backroom, now’_. . .  a man running and calling ‘Sindri’ as loud as physically possible.

It was difficult to concentrate. The pain struck again and again without breaks. A door was flung open, while a bedsit-styled room came into sight, and Thor vaguely recognised images of the landlord and personal possessions . . . a private room . . . unusual . . . the owner sacrificed luxury and space for the comfort of others. Thor hissed as his back touched ice. He heard them . . . _‘he’s Asgardian, put furs onto the bed’_. . . lifted again.

One man undressed him, while another scattered straw and fabrics and furs onto the block of ice that was used as a bed, and soon he was laid down onto the makeshift item of furniture, while another donned him in a thick fur that clung to his skin with a new sweat. There were three men now in the room . . . landlord, cousin, midwife . . . one pulled his legs up to his sides and told Thor to hold his ankles. They argued about best position, how gravity could help, but he was too fatigued and confused to stand or squat. Better to lie down . . .

“This is Sindri, Thor,” said Býleistr.

Thor groaned. He blinked as a man swung in and out of focus, while – every so often – doubling or tripling in image – deep lines darkened and deepened with the pressure given to one accosted with the sight of a foreign prince deep in labour. Thor laughed. Býleistr knelt beside him, pressing water to his lips, while the landlord shouted for someone to call for the healers, and Sindri was between his legs . . . a place only Loki had seen and touched . . .

 _Embarrassment. Shame. Ergi._ Thor wept even as the scream tore through his throat, but Býleistr held him down by his upper arms and kept him in place, while this stranger touched at his swollen hole and inserted fingers . . . measurements were recited . . . times . . . Thor screamed until he choked on bile and tears and mucus, until the fingers were removed and Sindri worked on placing a drip in his arm. _Emergency supplies. Injured refugees._ Thor blubbered aimlessly, while he begged for death . . . pain growing stronger . . .

“You are fully dilated,” said Sindri.

“Sindri says everything looks perfect,” added Býleistr. “You only need to push when he says to push, okay? The drip will replenish lost fluids. He’ll stitch you up once the baby is out, as he’s had to make a couple of incisions . . . we – we can install a bag for faecal matter once the baby is born. We can’t risk the incisions getting infected, Thor.”

“It’s too late for most pain-killers. Even if the healers get here in time, the baby is already crowning! Let us pray that we won’t need the forceps. Still, tell Rut to go into the storage room out back. I should have gas-and-air in there. It may help.”

“I’m going. I’m going,” called out the landlord.

“Okay, Thor,” said Sindri. “The guards have sent word to Helblindi, and we’ve received word that Loki and Sif have arrived. You won’t be alone for long. I know – _I know_ – this pain is unbearable, but billions of Jotuns have given birth before you and lived to tell the tale, and what is this pain for a warrior? Will you give up now or fight for your son? _Push_!”

Thor screamed as he pushed out. The spasms in his stomach tore through his senses, as he gripped hard at his ankles until the skin bruised and nails dug crescent-shaped cuts into his flesh, and – panting and pleading for breath – he collapsed back against the pillows. He mumbled over and over . . . _‘no, no, no’_. . . Býleistr brushed back locks of hair slicked to his scalp with sweat, while washing an ice-cold cloth over his face. It did little to ease the burning or sweating. He started to hyperventilate. He choked on air.

“Push, Thor,” cried Sindri. “Push!”

He took in a deep breath and pushed again. It felt as if his insides were being squeezed out of him, as a hollow sensation overtook his chest, and he started to retch . . . gag . . . Thor turned his head and let out a stream of acid and undigested food . . . _‘that’s it, let it out’_. . . Thor pushed until he could push no more. A strange ache below . . . fullness . . . he reached out with his fingers to his hole, where something firm and hard stretched open the rim . . .

Thor laughed and stroked at what felt like hair, wet and slimy on something soft. It was bizarre . . . Thor rolled his head from side to side, as he realised what was at stake, and – with another ‘push’ – he gripped at the furs until they tore and ripped beneath him. He arched his back and threw back his head. Veins throbbed visible on his neck. A momentary blackout . . . white spots on his vision . . . he collapsed back against the furs again and panted for breath, as Býleistr massaged his shoulders and hushed him with soft sounds.

“I cannot,” sobbed Thor. “I cannot.”

A vague sound of an opening door . . . Rut called out about gas-and-air . . . something plastic was pressed to his mouth and nose, with a surprising pressure that was uncomfortable and unmoving . . . easier to breathe . . . _‘breathe deep and slow, deep and slow’ . . . ‘that’s it, Cousin’._ Thor slid his legs flat, only to have them pushed back up by Sindri, who slapped him hard on his thigh and jolted him awake, as another contraction hit him hard.

“Push, Thor! You’re so close!”

Thor screamed out and pushed again. The door opened another time, as Helblindi appeared vaguely in his vision and several healers burst into the room. . . a needle was pressed into his other arm, while someone else took over from Sindri, and a burst of _seiðr_ spread through his form and brought a mild relief. A man called out: _‘– too many people in –’._ The door opened and closed again, as only Sindri and Býleistr and three healers remained.

Býleistr climbed behind Thor, until Thor lay against his chest. He dug his thumbs into tight muscles, while babbling aimlessly in an attempt to distract from the pain, and a healer – trained in _seiðr_ continued to focus on the nerve endings in an attempt to bring him back to coherency, as everyone chattered and argued and issued orders. There was an order for hot water and towels. Helblindi shouted inside: _‘I know you’re only giving me meaningless chores to keep me quiet’_. Thor laughed until tears streamed into his hairline.

He soon stopped as another pressure hit. A deep breath through the mask . . . a summoning of every last ounce of strength . . . this time, he did not need to be told to push. A loud cry shot out of his lips. The world blacked out around him. He pushed as much as he was able, as his inner walls contracted and clenched, and soon . . . emptiness . . . relief . . . Thor panted for breath, laughing once more. The heavy ache was still present, but it was matched only with a familiar clench of muscles finally resting after being pushed to their limit . . . _relief_.

A small form was quickly bundled into cloths. Thor panted for breath, as he recognised Jotun markings on white skin, and a tuft of black hair that was mussed and wet and wild, enough that Thor – weeping with pure bliss – realised this was his child . . . _‘you have a son’_. . . Sindri slapped his shoulder, while Býleistr shook him with a cheer, and outside everyone clapped in applause. Thor reached to his son, but they walked away. They left.

“I want my son,” murmured Thor.

The healer with his son stood by a window, with another healer at his side, and Sindri – swearing with a Jotun curse – ran to them with a bag made of strange leather, as he ripped through the metallic items and wrenched out a strange device. _No cries._ A terrible dread wrenched every nerve of his body, as a cold wave of sweat washed over him, and his stomach grew empty and rolled with the force of the bile that burned his throat. Love turned to terror, as he tried to sit up and panted for breath and shook his head over and over.

“W-Why isn’t he crying? _What is wrong_?”

“They are just taking him to one side to clear his airway,” whispered Býleistr. “He will be fine. Sindri said it’s normal for babies to take in a lot of fluid, and he’s with the healers who are experts in this area. Just take in deep breaths. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I – I want my baby. I want my baby! _Give me my baby_!”

“He is fine, Thor! I swear he is fine.”

_A loud cry issued out._

It started small, but grew high-pitched and loud. The tiny hand of the baby fisted and struck the air, while he cried in rhythmic waves and flung about his body, and – as Sindri laughed – a wave of adrenaline matched the relief that soared through his veins. Thor collapsed against Býleistr, as his stomach contracted and clenched, and soon the main healer was at the side of the bed and sliding a small lump into his arms . . . his son . . . his firstborn . . .

Tears streamed down his cheeks. He listened to their advice . . . _‘support the neck’, ‘beware the soft spot of his head’, ‘rest his ear against your heart’ . . ._ the baby was so soft and fragile, with cheeks so smooth that they felt unreal . . . blue eyes would sometimes peek out from underneath black eyelashes. He knew that Loki was born with green eyes, as such it was likely their son would keep his blue eyes, and so he looked so much like Thor. He was the perfect blend of them both, with Jotun ridges prominent on their skin.

Thor did not even look up as the door flung wide open. Býleistr continued to hold him, while he held the baby with a smile, and – only as the bed dipped – did he glance to his right and saw Loki with pale face and mouth wide open. He was out-of-breath, while Sif was hunched over gasping for air in the doorway, and Helblindi rubbed at her back with a smile, as he gently closed the door to give them the privacy they deserved. Loki choked out:

“We have a son?”

Thor hummed in contentment, reluctant to let go their son. He gazed at Loki with a bright smile, as endorphins flooded his system like the world’s strongest drug, and while he would never forget the pain as they often claimed . . . _it was worth it_. The baby no longer cried, as it rested in its swaddling cloth with eyes closed and hands fisted. He was beautiful. Thor stroked at his hair, before he gently offered the baby to Loki.

Loki flinched and squeaked. It brought laughter to Thor, who held the baby out further, until trembling hands tentatively wrapped around the small bundle, and – letting out a loud gasp – Loki held their son before him with wide eyes shimmering with tears. Loki was still out of breath, likely having run all the way from the pathway, but suddenly it was if none of that mattered and everything just fell into place. A kiss was placed to the baby’s forehead, as Loki wept and clasped him against his chest. Thor smiled and reached out to them both.

“We have a son,” whispered Thor.

A choked laugh escaped Loki. It was the most perfect sound, but destroyed at once by a gut-wrenching and agonising pain much like the previous birth . . . Thor screamed out and arched his back, as he kicked at the sheets and clawed at his still swollen stomach. Loki jumped away from the bed, clasping their son tight to his chest. The healers descended on Thor, while the mask was held in place by Býleistr and Sindri adjusted the fluid in his arm. Thor wept through the pain. Loki paced back and forth, hunched over and panting for breath.

“Thor?” Loki swallowed hard. “ _Thor_? What is wrong?”

“The other baby is coming,” said Sindri.

“What are you on about, Sindri? _What_ other baby?”

“Thor would not submit to modern technology. It isn’t uncommon for a twin to hide behind the stronger of the two in an ultrasound, so your healers probably missed it, and it might account for the early delivery . . . twins and multiple births rarely come on time. The good news is that second birth will be _much_ easier and quicker. Stand back, Prince Loki.”

Loki stumbled back against the wall. Thor sobbed and shook, unable to concentrate through the pain . . . _‘no, no, no, I cannot, not again . . . please, don’t make me’_. . . a searing urge to push struck him, as his back tightened like a bow and his legs shot to his chest. He screamed. It was a pain that would etch itself onto his memory, as he wept afresh with bloodshot eyes, and he pushed when they said to push, while striving not to black out. He lost track of time, as he collapsed back against Býleistr and begged for death, but then . . .

A loud cry shot through the room.

He sank against Býleistr and the bed, relieved it was easier as they claimed, but the speed did little to ease his pain or fatigue. The furs were soaked with blood and sweat and various fluids, as they clung to legs, and he could find no strength to properly support the baby, as a blue child was pressed against his chest with a tuft of blonde hair. Thor simply murmured and pulled a limp hand upward to lightly stroke a cheek. The baby was pulled away.

The door was opened as Sif and Helblindi spilled inside. Thor said nothing as Sif sat beside him and removed his fur layers, while washing him down with a cloth and clean waters, and the sensation was a small comfort, even as his stomach contracted and clenched . . . _‘six weeks to heal’, ‘bloody spotting common’, ‘stomach aches for some days’_. . . Helblindi and Loki appeared to trade children, each taking it in turn to coo and fuss over each infant in turn, while the Jotun child constantly murmured back and moved his arms.

“They are just stitching up the incisions now,” whispered Sif.

“Hmm,” mumbled Thor.

“The Asgardian child appears to have great natural _seiðr_.” Sif laughed. “The Jotun child has a mischievous glint to his eye, all too quiet and constantly watching his father and uncle. You will love to hold them. They are only a few minutes old, but have such wildly different personalities. The healers wish to take you all to hospital now. They will check you over.”

“Tired. Let me sleep . . .”

“You can sleep, Thor. The children will come with you to hospital, while I doubt anyone can pry them away from those two love-stricken fools, and it seems that you are no longer Loki’s favourite, Thor. I have never seen him look at any with such adoration!”

“Glad . . . I’m glad they get along so well . . .”

“Do you have a name for them?”

Thor smiled as Loki sat opposite Sif, while Býleistr remained behind him. He was surrounded by family with their Jotun son nuzzling against Loki in search of cold . . . the healers fiddled and fussed at Thor’s lower body, as they talked about the ‘afterbirth’, and no longer did he feel shame or fear at their wandering hands that sought to heal all wounds. The love burst through him like a drug. A peace washed over him and slowed his breath, as he pulled the mask from his lips and tossed it to one side, and he stroked at the head of his son.

“I shall name the Jotun Vigi,” said Thor.

“Then let me name the Asgardian,” added Loki. “I would vote ‘Vali’.”

“Vigi and Vali.” Thor hummed. “A recipe for confusion, but I love both names. I – I cannot stay awake . . . every muscle feels broken and weak . . . promise me they will be here when I awaken. I want their faces to be the first I see . . . I love them.”

“And they will love you. You have given them _life_.”

Loki leaned low and kissed at his lips. Thor had no strength to kiss back, as eyelids fluttered and breathing slowed, and soon images flashed before his mind, while words of others mingled with dreams and imagination and became a blur. He trusted them, even as they lifted him onto a gurney and led him through the inn . . . they would be the first thing he saw once awake, as well as his every thought and concern until the day he died . . . they were his . . .

_Vali and Vigi._


	19. Epilogue

_A loud laugh . . ._

Loki closed his book with a sigh. The leather was cool against his skin, as he traced his fingertips over the embossed title, and the crisp pages appeared almost yellow in the bright sunshine, which also brightened the appearance of the broken spine. A dozen or so sheets of paper sat trapped between the pages, with various languages scrawled by a familiar hand, and the notes provided a read more interesting than the very content he sought to memorise.

A loud laugh sounded again, just across the garden in a small clearing of space. Helblindi stood with Jotun attire forgone to make way for Asgardian layers, as he took a break from the constant political meetings and debates on his brief trip to warmer climes, and the sword he swung in his hand provided intricate and complicated movements. It would have brought chastisement from Sif at any other time, but she likely saw it for the intended distraction it provided, while the wooden daggers remained tucked in boots and belt.

Sif kept alert. The wooden sword was raised in proper stance, while leather boots gripped the soil underfoot with heavy tread, and the smile across her lips brought lines to the corners of her bright eyes. Sif gestured for Helblindi to make an attack. The scar across her palm was as clear as the ring on his finger, while – every so often – one would purposely ‘miss’ to grab a teasing hold of the other, and Loki smiled to see tactics often employed by Thor in training sessions . . . _‘it seems I have you now’. . . ‘aye, whatever shall you do with me, my prince?’. . ._

Loki blushed, as he shook his head. The stone bench was located not far away from them, underneath a beautiful array of trees native only to Asgard, and the detailed patterns – etched deep into its smooth surface – provided something to keep his hands busy, as he slid them from the book to the edges. A few footsteps slowly came behind him, as someone slid onto the seat beside him with a loud sigh, and soon a quiet voice mumbled out:

“Can I train?”

Vali stared with pursed lips. The Jotun ridges were more pronounced with his frown, as his white cheeks turned all the paler with apparent nervousness, and – as seconds passed between them – Vali only tensed more and more, until he tore himself away from the bench. Loki snatched at his hand and yanked him back, before quirking an eyebrow and looking the eleven-year old over. He flared his nostrils and shook his head. Vali already had tears brimming over his blue eyes, as he pushed back a loose lock of black hair. Loki asked:

“Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“You act as if any personal request will result in chastisement,” said Loki. “I am not going to punish you simply for asking whether you may train with your aunt and uncle, just as you should not fear talking to me about anything – whether trivial or important. What is it that makes you so afraid? If anyone is hurting you for speaking your mind, I’ll have their heads.”

“It – It’s nothing.” Vali shrugged. “They just make fun of me at the Academy, that’s all. If I ever ask a question, they just say: _‘don’t answer the_ ergi’. I keep hearing them say that an _ergi_ should be seen and not heard . . . that decorations don’t need to speak.”

“And you did not tell me about this sooner?”

“No,” said Vali. “I’m not stupid. They think that _argy_ men are weak, which is why they say stupid things like the Jotuns don’t get to ‘choose’ being _argy_ or not, and that’s why it’s so bad that an Asgardian is an _ergi_ , because it’s a ‘choice’. Okay, well, that won’t suspect an _ergi_ capable of kicking their scrawny butts, right? If I train, I can show them up.”

Vali smirked. The tears were still present, but his face stiffened and tensed. The conflict was writ across his features, as he sat perched on the very edge of the stone bench, and Loki cast his eyes over every inch of bared skin . . . _no bruises, no cuts_. Vali clasped his hands between parted legs, while he tugged and pinched at the skin between thumb and forefinger, and he kept his head low in a way that Loki saw a touch of Frigga, who sat not too far away in the gardens with Odin and Vigi. Loki let out a hiss of breath.

He dropped a hand onto Vali’s shoulder, where he squeezed at the hard muscle. There were knots appearing under the skin, which would need a healer or a patient touch to work out, but Vali still refused such touches or intimacies. Loki wondered what had been said, as if they had lowered his self-esteem enough to make him doubt his place in their family, and – with his free hand clenching into a tight fist – he gritted his teeth and said:

“A word from me will make them stop.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” mumbled Vali. “I won’t lie that it hurts. How do I know if I’m an _ergi_ or not? I don’t like anyone yet. I just want to study and work and play, but they keep treating me like I’m less worthy than them of a place at the Academy! Could I be home-schooled like Grandmother? Sure. Could you make them stop? Yes. It wouldn’t mean anything, though, as you can’t protect me forever. I have to protect myself.

“I also want to see the look on their faces when I pummel them into the ground. They keep pushing me and poking me and groping me right now, and I keep walking away and pretending like I can’t fight back . . . I know I could take one or two in a fight, because you and Pops taught me well, but a whole _group_? No. I can’t win outnumbered.

“It’s easier for them to think me weak . . . think they have the upper hand . . . once I’m strong enough, I’ll break the arms of every single one that hurt me, and I’ll stand strong and tall and be able to say: ‘an _ergi_ did that to you’. I might not be an _ergi_ , but I can guarantee they’ll _never_ underestimate any other _ergi_ that goes to the Academy, and they’ll always respect me from that day forward. I just have to be patient and train. I’ll win in the end.”

“Fear is not the same as respect,” said Loki.

“I think they will respect me to see I have achieved more than them.” Vali shrugged. “If they do not, I never cared for their opinion anyway, and at least I will have had my revenge. It’s just that everyone keeps telling me to use my words . . . learn to reason and debate and converse . . . how can I do that when no one listens? I need to _make_ them listen. So – if no one else will let me train past my limit – I thought you might let me.”

Loki pinched at the bridge of his nose. He squeezed at Vali’s shoulder, as he thought to how Thor demanded a balanced education . . . no hunting trips until his teenage years, no competitions until adulthood . . . a childhood of only the necessities of battle, where he would not grow to be aggressive or bloodthirsty or arrogant, thus repeating the mistakes of his father. It was a difficult decision. If Vali had tried his words and patience, that ought to be enough to sate his father who saw violence as a last resort. Loki sighed.

The swords and daggers were wooden, while any _seiðr_ was illusionary in nature, and physical blows were to incapacitate without permanent harm. Sif dove on Helblindi with great purpose and strength, while constantly on the tips of her feet, and Helblindi rarely used his weapons, except when to break an illusion to attempt a ‘killing’ blow. Loki pursed his lips, while he observed the mock battle with interest, and he knew he must do right by his son. 

“Go tell Sif that I said you could train,” said Loki.

Vali squealed out. He turned and threw his arms around Loki, before pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispering ‘thank you’, and suddenly ran with an enviable speed towards the clearing where the two adults trained in warmer climes than their norm. Vali was lithe like Loki, but there was immense strength behind his muscles. He would be a warrior. Vali grabbed at a sword on his way over, while quietly calling out with trepidation.  

It took a minute for them to hear him. Helblindi was the first to lower his weapon and call Vali over, where he ruffled black hair and poked at his growing muscles, before chirping that he would grow to be just like Thor or Býleistr in size, and Sif merely looked behind to check with Loki that it was fine to train. He raised a hand to signal ‘yes’, before she immediately began showing Vali the correct stances for self-defence and the best positions for offence, which he memorised with surprising ease. A voice sighed out beside Loki:

“I thought we agreed he must learn diplomacy before warfare?”

Loki rolled his eyes, as Thor sat beside him. The blond locks of hair were shaved short, after some mishap with one of Vigi’s latest pranks, and – despite how Thor lamented its loss – there was yet any punishment to be delivered. Thor even humoured their son by asking for design patterns in the undercut. Loki stroked at the hair behind the ear, where the soft hairs felt more like a domesticated animal than a wild warrior. He heaved a heavy breath, before slapping Thor outside the head and pointing far across the gardens to Vigi. Loki spat:

“Oh, I thought we _also_ agreed that Vigi will no longer engage in pranks.”

“What has he done now to irk you this time?”

“He convinced Father to show him the passageway into Jotunheim.” Loki narrowed his gaze. “I have no idea how he managed this, but he stole away into Jotunheim one night and showed the guards a forged permission slip by supposedly myself, and came back with a wheelbarrow filled with ice and snow. He used his _seiðr_ to craft an igloo prison around a boy while he slept, while standing just outside in Jotun form and threatening to eat him.”

“Ah, I believe I heard him joking with a friend about that,” said Thor. “There have been a group of boys tormenting Vali, who seeks to fight them, but Vigi believed that trickery would make them quit before Vali would get into trouble. I believe that boy soon stopped!”

“Oh, yes, because _this_ does wonders for Jotun-Asgardian relations! Vigi made it seem that a Jotun had kidnapped that boy and taken him with intent to eat him, enough that the poor child was hysterical when they managed to chisel through the ice to rescue him. Do you know how long it took me to smooth over matters? Helblindi is _furious_ with me.”

“Well, that boy started it,” said Thor.

“Well, I want this to be the end of matters! No more bloody pranks.”

Loki crossed his arms and legs. The warm Asgardian sun bore down through the trees and struck his cheeks, where his blue skin started to perspire, but he kept his gaze locked on Vigi in the distance, who sat cross-legged on the freshly cut grass before Frigga. A small cauldron of water sat between them, as Frigga waved her hands in a familiar pattern and gestured for Vigi to copy the movements. Odin sat on a high chair by them, where he would burst into laughter and slap Vigi on the back for any task successfully achieved.

“You should stop teaching him _seiðr_ ,” said Thor.

A cold wave washed over Loki. He slowly turned only to see Thor bracing his weight on a heavily muscled arm, perhaps at a greater size than even before his pregnancy, and his other hand rubbed lightly at his lower stomach as if in search of distraction. Thor bore an impassive expression, but his eyes were locked onto Loki and his words were firm. It was also the same discussion one held between Frigga and Odin . . . _‘you teach him magic only for him to play such pranks! He is better left to books and battle ’_. . . Loki’s heart raced.

“I could not do that,” whispered Loki. “It is what bonds us, much as how it provided a unique connection between our mother and me, and I also see how Father uses it to bond with Vigi and grow alongside him. You know what our childhood was like, Thor. You relied on your hammer as a grounding device, as you never did learn to control your _seiðr_ , but Vigi –”

“Vigi has already learned control, but now he needs _self-control_.”

“Unless Helblindi decides to have a child, Vigi is heir apparent to Jotunheim.” Loki drew in a sharp intake of breath. “Why not send him to boarding school for a while, instead? The Jotun approach to education is far different, more active and often one-on-one. He might find more means to burn excess energy, while the one-on-one attention may make him more receptive to lessons of a more moral and ethical kind. He needs to learn not to cross lines.”

“I will not send my son away,” said Thor. “We were raised as twins, Loki. Do you not remember the heartbreak when we were separated? Father once took me on a hunt alone, only for me to return and find you bloodied and broken as you assumed you were less loved, and even now . . . as adults . . . our self-doubts linger like scars. Let us not repeat their mistakes. I think we should home-school them both for the time being, Husband.”

“We could teach them both warfare and _seiðr_ in equal measure.”

“We can also teach diplomacy and self-control in equal measure.” Thor smiled. “They each have unique strengths and weaknesses, much as we did in our youth, and I see no harm in providing a personalised education until they are old enough to better cope with outside pressures. It is certainly an option, Loki. Think about it, please.”

Loki said nothing. Thor slowly stood and came behind him, where thick arms wrapped around his waist, and a bearded mouth delivered ticklish kisses to the crook of his neck, while the only sounds were laughter from Vigi and grunts from Vali. One studied while the other trained. Loki swayed as Thor held him, half-closing his eyes as the warmth from his body provided a small comfort, and he thought to the idea of home-schooling the children. They could easily find the greatest tutors that all nine realms could provide.

Vigi pushed back at his blond hair, visible even in the distance, as he gesticulated wildly with his hands and pointed to the cauldron, and Odin – with aching joints and great fatigue – knelt down with a visible wince and took Vigi’s hands in his, before demonstrating the technique that would enable him to communicate with others via large distances. Thor breathed deep at Loki’s neck, as he watched them study and bond in turn, before he whispered:

“Have I told you the good news, Loki?”

Loki hummed and turned around. He draped his arms around Thor’s shoulders, while Thor held him gently about his hips and put some distance between them, and – with a devilish smirk – Thor lowered his gaze down to his lower body. Loki frowned, as he gazed at Thor’s crotch and quirked an eyebrow, but Thor laughed and shook his head, before taking one of Loki’s hands and guiding it to his lower stomach. There was a swell. Loki asked:

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Thor nodded. Loki stepped back with mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, as his eyes watered and his hand trembled, and still he ran his long digits over and over the swell of stomach, as he sought for any sign of life . . . a flutter of movement, a kick of a foot . . . they would need to redecorate the nursery, while a spare room would be needed for later in the child’s life. Loki laughed, as tears streamed down his face. He placed kisses all over Thor’s cheeks and lips, until he pulled back with a staggered breath to choke out:

“That – That is beyond good news, Thor!”

“I am two months gone, too.”

“So we are safe to tell everyone?” Loki blinked back his tears. “I am so happy, Thor! I will not lie, as I never expected for life to be like this . . . married to my brother, blessed with children . . . how is it that you have given me everything that I could have ever wanted? I know that we still have many prejudices to fight, but I am proud to fight at your side.”

“Would it be cliché to say that things feel perfect?” Thor laughed. “We have two sons that daily make me wish to apologise to our parents for the havoc we wrought, and yet I would not change things for all the gold in the universe. This feels . . . _right_.”

“I think there is only one thing that may change your mind.”

Loki reached a hand behind Thor. He tugged at a piece of paper stuck to his armour, before pulling it around to show him a ‘kick me’ sign written in a childish hand, which Thor snatched and screwed up into a tight ball. The flared nostrils and flushed red cheeks spoke of absolute anger, until he bore an uncanny resemblance to Odin during their youth, and Loki bit into his lip to hold back from laughter, as he used _seiðr_ to burn the paper. Thor muttered:

“Not the most ingenious of Vigi’s pranks.”

Loki could only laugh, while he ran his hands beneath the cloth of his outwear. He worked his fingers beneath the fabric, until he could feel bare skin against his hands, and – with a low hum – focussed his _seiðr_ as taught by Eir, until he felt the tiny heartbeat. _One_. A low sigh escaped his lips, as a burst of adrenaline ran through him with the sheer relief experienced, and he pulled his hands away go cup Thor’s cheeks with a smile.

He looked into those blue eyes, which featured in so many memories . . . _the renewal of their vows before friends and family, every morning spent wrapped in each others arms, the scent of sex and sweat each night, arguments as voices grew ever louder, whispered laughter as they embraced on the balcony . . ._ tears streamed down Loki’s cheeks. A lifetime spent together from birth until death. Loki pressed a soft kiss to Thor’s husband, as a swell of love and affection burst through him, and he whispered the soft and sincere words:

“Thank you, Husband.”


End file.
